Walking North one day with the dogs, I am i-Pod-less. Which means my mind goes in all directions at once. I default to my customary and all together enjoyable self as snippet catcher, collecting fragments of speech and odd bits of sound as I glide along. I listen for and to sounds--animal, mechanical, human or self-induced (kicking leaves—a hall of fame sound for sure).
About 17 blocks from home, after crossing Notre Dame campus, with its boring murmurs of "then she said…" and "did you study” and “call me later…” I passed a garage where a ball cap-wearing guy spoke loudly in phone, "I gotta go, I gotta clean out the car."
And because it's early and because I over-imagine I immediately thought, "Oh, he's a guy who murdered someone last night, just got home, has the body in his trunk and now needs to dispose of it and scrub away the blood." It gives me no pleasure to reveal this twisted brain activity. I’m comforted that we all think weird things, unnerved by realizing most don't think like this.
So on I step, now hearing dogs bark, *&%#$! grass blowers whine, back to a semblance of la de da. Until the shiny black hearse glides by.
It must be on its way to pick up that dead body. But doesn't the guy realize he'll be so busted?! I almost return to the scene, but of course there’ll be no arrest, the funeral home guy is his accomplice.