by Helen Chappell You know, John and I live on the water. Well, you’d have to stretch to call it waterfront property, because we’re at the end of a long road, and our water is the end of a creek. A shallow creek. You could barely launch a kayak at high tide down there, and it’s mostly marshy. Not exactly a waterfront estate, is what I’m saying, and not exactly a place anyone would come to party or picnic or anything. One day, John is out there cutting the grass, and this pickup truck drives down the road, which
is strange enough, because nobody comes down here but the farmer who has a couple of fields across the road. So, while my husband is out there, this red pickup pulls up to the edge of the creek, and these two guys get out. And, mind you, my husband is right there riding around on the mower. While he watches, and they must have seen him, because it’s only about fifty feet, these guys unload this couch, dump it down by the creek and drive off.