Maybe I Watch Too Many Cop Shows

It was dark as I hopped out of my grandfather's car. It was cold outside. The wind blew right through my knitted sweater. I flipped out my phone to call my sister.

"Jess, should I go ahead and order hamburgers for you?" A pause, then "Okay, fine, I'll see you when you get here."

I was being short with her for a reason. I was a little frightened. To get to the Jack-in-the-Box, I had to cross a very busy street, and then walk across a dilapidated gas station.

I stood at the curb for a few seconds that crept by as the cars flew by, blowing gassy fumes into my face. I chose my moment, then walked across the street as quickly as I could. I resisted the temptation to run--I did not want to have any chance of tripping and falling flat on my face.

The other side of the road greeted me with an ominous expression. Almost absolutely black, with patches of light here and there, the abandoned gas station loomed before me. I tried not to think that this would be a perfect hang out for homeless bums. I tried not to see the beggar with torn clothes and gloves that my mind projected into the picture. The walk to the Jack-in-the-Box was the longest I have ever taken.

Finally, I leapt over the curb and onto the white pavement, trying to seem casual as I strolled into the fast food joint. I had to be somewhere in 10 minutes, so I willed the food to come quicker than usual. I snatched the burgers and drinks when they arrived, and left the shelter of the lighted restaurant.

Was I crazy to struggle to hold the drinks and the burgers and the fries in one hand, so my other hand would be free to fight? Maybe. Maybe I was imagining things. As I crossed the street back to the other side, I felt alert, strong, and ready for action. When I walked into the building bright with neon lights where I was to meet my sister, I noticed that my shoes had picked up some mud and had tracked it onto the carpet.

With this discovery, my mind's eye, which had endured many Scooby-Doo episodes during my childhood, began to invent scenarios where the police came in and interrogated me. A murder happened at that old, abandoned gas station, and the mud on my shoes linked me to it.

"But Officer, I have a time stamped receipt placing me at the Jack-in-the-Box at approximately the same time the murder occurred."

"The Jack-in-the-Box is right next to the crime scene, you would have had plenty of time to kill him." And to his fellow crony, "Lock her up!"

Okay, so maybe watching Bones, and Castle, and the Mentalist, and CSIs on ocassion has corrupted my mind a little. But isn't life more fun this way?