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My name is Conner Griggs. I dont have much going on. Im an average guy, twenty-three years old, fresh out of college and trying to find a career for myself. Ive got a job, but its lame, but Ive gotta have something to pay the rent on this crummy house.
As I browsed through the job listings on my laptop I could hear the steady drip! drip! drip! coming from the bathroom faucet. That was getting pretty annoying, and so was that musty smell that came through the vents from time to time. I had sent the landlord an email, but he hadnt gotten back to me.
I sat back in my creaky office chair and rubbed my eyes. I had been looking through the job listings for entirely too long. I stood up and walked outside for a minute, taking a big deep breath of fresh air and wondering if Id ever get my stuff together. It seemed like most of my friends landed big jobs right out of college. But not me.
I wasnt complaining though, at least not too much. I still had a pretty good life, and I knew opportunity was just around the corner.
The last thing I wanted to do was go back inside and browse those endless crummy job listings, so I decided to take a walk. Something I rarely did.
The neighborhood I lived in was a middle-class suburb, a decent place with low crime full of nice starter homes. My neighbors were all quiet, and so was I, which I thought was great.
At the end of my cracked concrete driveway I decided to take a left and go back through the neighborhood instead of toward the main drag. I didnt want to walk down the side of the road next to all those zooming cars. It was a forty-five mile per hour speed limit on that road, but it was so wide and flat that everyone from teenage boys to grandmas sped down it like it was a dragstrip. More often than not, youd see a car pulled over on that road, a cop car behind it, lights flashing. Youd chuckle as you drove by, but then youd say a quick prayer, glad it wasnt you that got caught.
So I continued on my walk, down Heatherwood Lane, the street I lived on. It was a nice day for a walk, partly cloudy, eighty degrees or so, perfect shorts, t-shirt, and flip-flop weather. I ran a hand through my shaggy hair, it was time for a summer cut, which Id do myself later this afternoon if I felt up to it.
I glanced at the houses as I walked by. Nobody was outside doing anything and the small brick and wood houses looked so peaceful, one after the other, just sitting there, birds flitting around, squirrels climbing on rooftops and jumping to trees. In the backyard of one of the houses I saw a dog rolling around on his back like he had an itch he just couldnt scratch.
The houses were all pretty much the same layout, but the different colors of bricks and sidings and window treatments made them just that much different.
I made it to a crossroads. A four-way stop. I decided to go right, after I let a white work truck pass by. The man in it raised a hand, I raised mine in return, then headed down Robin Road, looking for a robin, but unsure if I could actually identify one.
All the houses on this road were built about the same time as the places on Heatherwood Lane, they all had that same look, and I kinda ignored them as I walked down the street, until I made it to the last house.
It wasnt a particularly interesting house, but what was interesting about it was what was in the driveway. It was an old speedboat. A cool looking old thing, sleek and sharp, that at one time mustve been a sparkly red color, but it had faded and oxidized and now it was a sickly pinkish white color. A big black motor hung off the back of the boat, but it looked so crusty and gunked up that I doubted it would ever run. On top of all that, both tires on the rusty trailer holding the boat were flat, and a greenish substance had leaked onto the ground from somewhere. I looked under the boat to see if there was a hole in the hull.
Shes a real beauty, isnt she?

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CJ Blake