Does This Constitute Evidence?

 

The woman who received my sample via the US Postal Service has expressed to me not a little consternation about what seems to be an ongoing campaign of contamination. I've tried on numerous occasions to console her while simultaneously placing her vehicle in an anonymous receivership for which the only remedy is a one-on-one pro-comp with one of our more outspoken doomsayers. To call him 'verbose' wouldn't be wrong by half, if that. In fact, when you get right down to it, it seems that he's just 'wired wrong' in all the ways which will count toward his eventual release. By which time I will have already packed my bags for fonder pastures. No one ever seems to count the grooves, even when unvisited shafts come to the fore, shrinkage or not.

So, we met at a coffee shop here in town. She brought with her a measly selection of self-selected treats, all the while making like she was doing me a favor. I took it in stride but couldn't help myself when it came to pointing out where her bread was buttered and exactly who would end up being the butt of all the puerile insinuations swirling about us like a headwind buffeting an extirpated stipend. She removed a framed photo of an old flame from the folds of her ample bosom and proceeded to go into an extended song and dance as to the provenance of said photo and why I should care in the first place. Only years later, when I eventually took her maladaptive brother under my wing did the truth finally reveal itself. I felt no shame in scoffing, but at the same time I knew that one day soon, a person on the verge of a nervous breakdown would enter my life as if from nowhere and that nothing would ever be the same.

There is a paper about the same size and shape as her head which, rumor has it, contains important clues to the ultimate disposition of an ongoing inquiry. This paper is said to exist in multiple forged versions, the only genuine article having taken form as a classified ad in the Chicago Tribune from August 12, 2011. I was presented with a copy of that very edition during a rough patch I experienced while seeking closure for an unprovoked attack on my motives, character, appearance and overall rectitude. When I say that I didn't find anything remotely amusing about the way he shoved me into a lamp post while I struggled to get my footing in foreign terrain, I don't for one minute think that my account will raise any sort of red flag at all. In fact, were I a betting man (and I'm not, just to be clear), I wouldn't find it at all difficult to force some lesser prelates into an improvised clearing and have my way with their paltry duffel bags. It takes one to know one, but this time I've got the goods on all their sorry asses and there's not a goddamned thing they can do about it! Is this getting through? If not, I can wait in the car until you get a reading.

______________________