HAVING GROWN TO BELIEVE that confession is good for the soul, I’m faced with the desire to acknowledge a wrong that was committed by me, tonight.
Please bear witness.
While walking my large dog, Murphy, in the late evening, we passed a heavy density of parked cars, marking a gathering of some kind, at a neighbor’s house.
If I had known what was coming, I would have guided Murphy away from the cars, but wasn’t thinking. Then, it was too late — a heavy flow of wet business was deposited on the grass between the sidewalk and the curb, precisely where, whoever the passenger of this vehicle was going to be, will surly need to step.
As it was, I left without trying to clean it up.
It was dark. The business would not only be difficult to find, but difficult to retrieve, being slimy and all. Nobody saw it happen. So I let it pass. It’s done, all but the screaming.
I confess it, and am feeling better.
Thank you.
Thwarticus 