I sidle up next to Mickey, who’s on the other side of the yellow tape and I ask him straight up what gives.  He tells me that the barbque is on for the end of August and yeah, it was a sideroller with a way down and a blow to blow on the forest path to which I go ‘huh?’ because I ain’t following that no how.  He laughs and says if I spring for a soda because he’s parched, I’ll get a little info, enough to fill a couple paragraphs and maybe more to come in a day to two when they find out the modus to the apparendi.

“Really?” I go, ‘hmmm…for the price of a pop you’ll sing?”  I find a vendor and get him a large Coke on ice and get myself a little fudgsicle because I was forgetting about Milkusky and the gut and I hand him his drink and he says thanks a lot, mister, I needed that.  “Course you did,” I tell him, in my small way I’m helping humanity, spill it now, if you please,” and Yerka tells all about the case of the podunk dogwalker who got her heel snapped on a grate in the sidewalk by the likes of a two-bit hustler who made off through the woods with one of the Peke’s gold collars.

“Hmmm, just like that the thug snatched the diamond doggie collar and ran off after bustin’ the chick’s neck?”  I’m curious how it came to be but Yerka says that’s about the size of it for now, what they know, having only been on the scene about ten minutes themselves and not for sure about the collar because it was observed by a person sitting under the tree yonder wondering if something were to fall out of that tree would it land like Newton’s apple, i.e., the dude was no doubt philosophizing in his own universe to an audience of trillions and couldn’t be counted on for a very likely story, other than that.  Yerka asks what I’ve been up to, to pass a little time while his fellow officer is eyeing the soda in Yerka’s hand and the fact that I am also biding convenient time with a fudgesicle and yeah, I tell him I’ve had my first date with Milkusky and he hi-fives me like we’re in the secret buddyhood of chick diggers, which I guess we are, us being guys and all and who understands that?  women…heh…

So, I got my little story for the afternoon and I go over to a hollow tree in the shade and tap it out on my portable laptop and send it off to the desk  where it is snatched up from cyberspace by truly yours buddy, whowever the heck that is that does the clerical assist on that end of the pole vault and it becomes an item in the evening news edition.  I’m free to go on to my major article, on which I’ve done about three weeks research give or take a few days and one that gives me great pleasure to continue upon, it being the item that I have found most gratuitous to my journalist effort.

And what might that be, you may wonder…well, it really wasn’t an article about the city, although I admit I love the place and always have and so glad I came here just after I got my diploma and settled in at the Daily Hash, which has been my home ever since, wordwise…