A Stalk in the dark
I should give a bit of warning now before we get too far into this story. Everything is completely fictional and in no way based on real events imagined or otherwise. Maybe some events are just like what happened in real life. Maybe that's true. Maayyyyybe that's what's going on here.
Today I went for a walk in the park. I grabbed my bike and helmet and my bag and camera and went, and this is what I might have written about:
An hour before I had arrived home, from work, by bike. It was so dark. I felt so lucky to have lights on my bike—one of the last lines of defense for leg-powered bikers.
Once I arrived, still high on the adrenaline of surviving my ride, I went straight to the kitchen for some delicious granola, which I love to eat. My roommate, the Mr. or Ms. Smith arrived (Name censored for privacy). I said “happy birthday” and “hello.” I had been excited to go to Vine night—a night of brews and bros—at a bar called Fourth Street Vine… with my roommate the Mr. or Ms. Smith, whose birthday it was.
But there was no celebration! No birthday or brews or gregarious bros. Instead, there was Mr. Smith alone entered the three-person house-style apartment managed by Dingle Property group. Dingle Property group won’t return my calls! They won’t answer my emails. He glanced my way, and as he did I said “There's the birthday boy,” (In a goofy, light tone mind you), and “Hello.”
To my surprise, he seemed affected by something that had happened while I had not been with him. Isn’t that strange? Everyone has lives just like me-course I spend 2-3 hours daily on the john mulling over which ground beef I gotta keep and which ground chuck I gotta toss. Some’s gotta go! But it can’t be all because that’d be all my beef and all my chuck. It was supposed to last a week. It was supposed to last me all week but my dang dog got the key to the walk in and started scarfin’ it all down and now he’s got dog supergonorrhea. And now his tummy hurts. And now his little paw got a little beef juice on it and we gotta chop it off and put the paw up for auction as a one-of-a-kind prop for a new dog movie that’s comin’ out in the fall called Dog Gone.
I consulted the Mr. Smith about any news he had heard about the upcoming festivities at Vine, and asked him or her if we were still on for tonight. He or she said "No." I asked, "Do you wanna go anyway?" He or she moves from the door to the kitchen to the living room, turning to leave, face framed by the pseudo arch created by the structural outer walls of the upper unit, grafted-on top of our house unit along with two other back units that include inhabitants such as: Joseph, the Egyptian Family, The CalTrans employees, and a family of four. unit above, he or she says, “Nah, I'm good. It's okay.”
The Mr. or Ms. Smith may be my Roomate. He or she might be a funny dude or girl - definitely he or she might be down to hang out, dance, or party if the respective occasions ever arrive. (Sometimes they arrive at the same time. Sometimes they overlap.) He or she recently lost his or her guinea pig named … uh Glip (with a big ol’ capital “G”). She was very cute, and I had the privilege of petting her after I first arrived. She’s a bundle—heftier than you think—and very, very cute.
My roommate, the Mr. or Ms. Smith, may have once buried Glip in the front yard one day. With a spoon from the kitchen, chipping away at the top layer of the lawn's tough sun-baked dirt. He or she would have buried her in a shoebox. I never saw the embalming ceremony, but if I did I would have also witnessed the burial, for the two ceremonies are interlinked don’t you know. It was or would have been so very dark, so I held up my phone's flashlight.
The Mr. or Ms. Smith, covered in dirt, arose from the site, after quite possibly having just levered a slab-like slat-like garden stone over Glip to cover her body (and to protect it from Racoons and Coyotes) and upon heaving the totem and completing the ceremony let out a belabored sigh, and my roommate, the Mr. or Ms. Smith, went inside, and smoked