Monday 7:30 am
Overcast skies loom overhead, as the rain beats down hard against Dylan’s old, black Continental. Carelessly, he pulls to the side of the road at a blocked off intersection on the corner of 13th and Maddux. It’s usually a calm spot for the big, little city of Camino. Yellow tape is strewn about haphazardly. Dylan stumbles out of his car. Nonchalantly, he ducks under the tape. A uniformed officer rushes towards him. He’s screaming, “This is a crime scene!”
Dylan slurs his words, as a faint scent of bourbon wafts off his lips, “Yeah buddy, man, guy… huh?” With his shoulders slumped deeply, he sways a bit as he continues, “It sure looks that way. You want it?” Dylan’s awkward disposition has clearly distorted the officer’s preconceptions.
“Officer Kelley?” He inquires.