The last of the summer people are leaving and the street strangely deserted. The television next door still flickers at night in an empty house. The padlock on the gate has moved. The potted geraniums have gone. Where is the invisible wife and her dog? It's really giving me the creeps. How is it possible to live in a small town and not have any friends at all?
My friend Bean is expecting her hoard of children and grandchildren. I certainly would like to be a granny one day but I suspect my one and only will not have a kid until she has won a Nobel prize in neuro-biologial-alien-genetic immune systems.
I'm not sure I like this time of year after all.
Now you've got me thinking of Rear Window. She's buried in the garden and the dog is with her so it wouldn't dig up the bones.
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