After delivering the Police blotter for print in tommorrow's paper. I'm glad that I didn't go out this past weekend. It was Hot in the city, hot to the tune of 6 full page columns of Police blotter criminals. That's not really a good thing......
(hushed).... When I was little we find a man --(she struggles for the words) -- like a butcher. The old ones in the village cross themselves and whisper crazy things. 'Demonio, cazador de trofoes...Only the hottest times of the hottest years...' Crazy things...This year is grows hot. And we begin finding our men. We find them sometimes without their skin. Sometimes...much, much worse. Cazador de trofoes...means the demon who takes trophies.
I was seeing things on my way to dinner this evening, everywhere I looked there were red dots emenating from random places around town. Maybe it was just my imagination. Put the guns down and walk away.....it's not worth it.
I doubt we could get Jesse "the body" Ventura and Arnold in the same place right now. To whip things into shape.
I'm not carrying the knife in my truck anymore, just the "buzzsaw" rescue wedge for skull splitting, stroke saving in the rough fun. Maybe I'll actually put it back in my golf bag at somepoint.