Sunday, May 03, 2015

I’m not what one could call a Jr. cult member. In fact, if I had a favorite NASCAR Driver he’s retired. But, Jimmy Johnson will do second well.

I do watch the races and like the long tracks over the short. But, Jr won a long race today and well done. Sorries to the Lady Driver, Go-Daddy has hung in there long enough and is hanging her up.

So, with minor other triumphs, that was my Sunday. Quite.

Now, Saturday was about the same. Quiet. With a major exception that just tickled my cheeks.

Back through the archives runs a thread of near neighbor, and in that thread I’ve explained that near neighbor kept his cash of excess drugs in a small box he made to hold such and that fit under the chassis of lawn mowers, well hidden under the seat area.

He would place the old mower containing the box out on public land and allow grass to grow around it. But, he does make a show of mowing that public area and sometimes close, other times allowing it to grow quite long.

He also turned a camera in his home on the area as an alarm system.

He always, when away on farm jobs for his extended family, get other members to check his home and, by extension, the cash – which the members might or might not have known of by direct knowledge.

Yesterday afternoon a pickup truck stopped by the busted lawn mower. The driver, known only by sight to me, and indirectly by rumor of his habits, descended from the truck and examined the mower.

The driver of the pickup looked up in my direction and gave me a shit eating grin, proceeded to load the mower into the truck.

Splendid.

About ten minutes later the kids from questionable houses scattered in several directions. Baker Street irregulars without doubt and about ten minutes later here came near neighbors brother in his bosses truck and. Lo, drove off in panic. Returned in dis-belief and drove off in panic.

Indeed, the mower was gone and repeat trips by brother changed nothing. The definition of insanity.

The fourth trip back brother lingered for a while and played with the Baker Street Boys and just about dark the motorcycle drivers gathered under the street lights to converse.

The motorcycle boys are sheriff deputies, of near neighbors extended family, and they patrol the village on the bikes.

All in all, if the mower stays disappeared, a most satisfying Saturday.

I won’t even mind the burned meals.

_____

From the reaches,

Ten Whsikey

About tenwhiskey

User tenwhiskey is also the author of this blog. He currently lives in small town Kansas in a semi-retired condition. His kids are married and gone (thank you). An empty nester. Divorced. Very happy with life as it is. Ten Mile maintains a personal blog here, writing of events as they appear to him; commentary, and opinions abound. He deviates into fiction as the mood strikes and creates flash fiction stories and short stories. He will not warn the reader when he drifts from fact to fiction. He feels adults are, generally, smart enough to figure out which is which. He does, however, attempt to make his fiction sound as true to life as possible. You have been warned. He, as time permits, writes and occasionally sells writing. More often than not he gives it away to various non-paying publishers of Ether Magazines, forums or for entertainment on a wall for in need of a hand friends. He likes candy, pies and a certain amount of strife. In the matter of strife - in his yourth on the farm, he became embroiled in a slinging fight. The fight involved lath as a launcher, fresh cow patties as ammo and it was a six way free for all. A little mud only adds (Umm?) a certain taste to life.
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