On Saturday morning I stood by the window and looked out at the people below. Many happy families were out and about on that beautiful summer day - the smiles on their faces said it all. In contrast I hadn’t left the apartment in a week and was starting to smell a little ripe. The place was a fucking disaster.
Since Shelly’s disappearance the newspaper reporters kept calling. I had to take the phone off the hook it got so bad. They wanted to know why she had cigarette burns on her wrists and neck. They wanted to know about the watermelon eating contest she had won as a child. I had no comment and hung up before any of them could respond.
As the day wore on I noticed a sweaty obese middle aged hippy gingerly walking down the road. His double chin was held high and proud, his long thinning hair lay gently upon his shoulders. The hot mid day sun shined down upon his red pock marked face as he smiled and waved at the children playing in the park across the street. He wore an ill fitting leather tasseled suit, and golden chains that rested upon his exposed hairy chest. I was compelled right then and there to get down on my knees and thank god that she had created creatures as beautiful and as magnificent as this. Instead I went to the fridge, grabbed a jello-pudding pop, then sat on the couch and yanked chain to the last half hour of Ally Mcbeal.