Chapter 1: The Only Thing Out of Place
Nearly every morning at seven, my neighbor Barbara dragged three, four, sometimes five enormous black bags down her driveway.
Nothing else about her seemed unusual. She lived in one of the prettiest homes on our street, with trimmed hedges, flawless flower beds, and a luxury SUV that never appeared to have a speck of dirt on it. We weren’t close, but whenever our paths crossed, she waved and offered a pleasant good morning.
Then she would wrestle those bags toward the curb.
They were heavy contractor bags, not ordinary kitchen liners. Barbara often wore slippers or a fluffy pink robe, and the load made her stop halfway down the driveway to catch her breath.
At first, I treated it as one of those harmless neighborhood oddities that was none of my concern. Then my wife mentioned it over breakfast.
“Have you ever wondered what’s in those bags?”
I chuckled. “Trash, I assume.”
But once she said it aloud, the question lodged in my mind. My wife and I barely filled one bag a day. Barbara discarded enough in a week to fill a small dumpster. Continue Reading ⬇️
