Why was she hunkered down, almost below the back porch, wearing rubber dish-washing gloves? An anthropologist might have found it fascinating, but the centipedes repulsed her. Styrofoam plant containers, plastic containers, a rotisserie chicken carcass, dry wooden stakes - flammable and therefore a hazard. She ripped the blue tarp from the porch support; its clumsy attempt to hide the debris long compromised by inclement weather. She piled random objects on the tarp, pausing to yelp. In her hand was a dead squirrel, teeth bared in its death scream.
Next time she would just offer moral support.
Next time she would just offer moral support.
