In the eighth grade, my confirmation teacher told me I was now a soldier of God. Somewhere along the line, I switched branches. What I am doing does not seem very Christ-like. For that matter, it does not seem very Marine-like either.
I was wrong about Friday nights. Just when I thought Count could be depended on to take advantage of the kitchen pass, he goes straight to his bowling buddy’s house to watch movies or get to bed early. I began to wonder if he might be feeling under the weather. Something told me to pick up his trail the next morning and tail him to work. I arrived early hoping to become stealth and prepare my camera.
As I pulled onto the familiar section of Judson Street, in the Northern Havelock area, Count was already pulling away. It was a good 30 minutes before he would need to depart for work. Had I known he was leaving early, I would have arrived earlier, but I thought to myself, this might work out after all. I kept my distance, and followed Count’s green Cavalier on his normal route to the penitentiary.
Had I been paying closer attention, I would have probably turned down the road behind Count, but I missed it. Count turned off at a park, just south of Van Dorn. I did not want to appear to be following him, so I went another block and turned right to a vantage point on Robber’s Cave Road. It was a dead end, but I could see the park where Count had driven his Cavalier.
For a minute, I thought it was going to be too dark to see anything. Then the lights went on in her vehicle as she opened up the doors of her pickup. It was a huge red Dodge with the third door on the driver’s side.
She’s lying down, the pants come off, the doors shut, and then the lights go out. The windows fog up. Eight minutes later, Count climbs out and fixes his pants. This guy gets more ass than a toilet seat. Again, Count is just over a half mile from work.
“Where’s she workin’” “The Reg.”
“What the fuck is she doing at the Reg?” “Fittin’ in.”
“Must be a big space.”
I was wrong about Friday nights. Just when I thought Count could be depended on to take advantage of the kitchen pass, he goes straight to his bowling buddy’s house to watch movies or get to bed early. I began to wonder if he might be feeling under the weather. Something told me to pick up his trail the next morning and tail him to work. I arrived early hoping to become stealth and prepare my camera.
As I pulled onto the familiar section of Judson Street, in the Northern Havelock area, Count was already pulling away. It was a good 30 minutes before he would need to depart for work. Had I known he was leaving early, I would have arrived earlier, but I thought to myself, this might work out after all. I kept my distance, and followed Count’s green Cavalier on his normal route to the penitentiary.
Had I been paying closer attention, I would have probably turned down the road behind Count, but I missed it. Count turned off at a park, just south of Van Dorn. I did not want to appear to be following him, so I went another block and turned right to a vantage point on Robber’s Cave Road. It was a dead end, but I could see the park where Count had driven his Cavalier.
For a minute, I thought it was going to be too dark to see anything. Then the lights went on in her vehicle as she opened up the doors of her pickup. It was a huge red Dodge with the third door on the driver’s side.
She’s lying down, the pants come off, the doors shut, and then the lights go out. The windows fog up. Eight minutes later, Count climbs out and fixes his pants. This guy gets more ass than a toilet seat. Again, Count is just over a half mile from work.
“Where’s she workin’” “The Reg.”
“What the fuck is she doing at the Reg?” “Fittin’ in.”
“Must be a big space.”
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