In the middle of writing a scene from Days, lots of cops and poor David stuck in the middle of it, and while at my computer I hear a distinct THUMP! just outside the front door.
Heart pounding, I go to the window and see a dark figure running across the street, away from my house. He runs to a large four-door SUV across the street, something like a Suburban with laterally opening doors in the back. Both doors are open. The black or very dark blue SUV is covered from tires to door handles with dirt and salt and road grime, courtesy of our Minnesota winters and the Department of Transportation’s salt trucks. I can’t make out a license plate or a vehicle make.
The engine is running, a driver sits facing away from me. Two men are doing something at the tailgate, rummaging around in the back of the SUV. One of them is the guy who was running away from my house. Both are in jeans. One has a dark jacket and ski hat, the other a black hoodie with the hood up. I memorize details: clothing, build, hubcaps.
I hesitate to go to the door and see what caused the thump. Not while they’re still here. I watch, unsure what they’re up to. They’re still rummaging around in the back of the SUV, moving something white. Several somethings white. Bags. Bags of what? Then I see.
I think maybe I’m a little too focused on the book.
And not nearly as embarrassing as the time rather…er…recently when my concerned call to the non-emergency police number about a gas-like smell at a shopping mall resulted in two fire trucks with lights and sirens and a whole lot of attention.
Turned out to be a roofing crew – what I smelled was hot tar.
At least the firefighters had a good laugh.
I went home and hid.
The phone book. That is funny.