It’s 9 PM on a late summer evening outside on the patio. Crickets chirp, and a soft breeze blows. The light that normally illuminates the postage stamp back yard is off, but the safety lights from the nearby apartments shine bright enough to see. The stars are bright overhead. The dog sniffs around at some weeds that have overgrown their stay in the flowerbed and quietly conducts his business while a couple from down the street pass by cautiously with their own dog. They go unnoticed. Suddenly the couple’s three year old son zooms by on a Razor scooter, missing the neighbor’s car by inches and stopping just short of an old stump in the yard.
“Oh, shit!” exclaims the three year old.
I walk back inside and shake my head. Fucking kids, I tell you.