The Kerfuffle That Wasn’t

I always, always sleep through tiny drama that happens here in this drowsy apartment complex. The next day I’ll be told, “So and so was taken away by ambulance last night.”

Really?

“The guy in #40 got drunk and threatened the manager with a taser.”

No foolin’?

I am oblivious.

Last night my vigilant security team (my dog Chloe) woke me with red alert barking. Then there was noise. Lotsa noise. Chains clinking, a diesel engine purring like a lion. Men shouting. I eased open the door.

A black 18-wheeler cab with no markings nosed carefully around the corner and stopped. More rattling of chains and shouting. For maybe 15 minutes, there was no movement I could see. Just as I was closing my door, the truck started backing out of the complex, and Chloe began growling. A slender dark-haired man who was NOT wearing a hoodie walked up to the apartment door next to mine. I asked, “What happened?”

The face he turned to me was clearly in no mood for idle chat. “My car broke down. They towed it here.”

Sigh. Not news, even here. I HAD just earned the title of nosy old woman, though.

I went back to bed.