Green Valley Lane 1I

Any lingering doubt I’ve had is gone now. This guy’s definitely following me, has been since I got off the highway. There’s only one way to end this nonsense, and that’s to no longer lead. Go home, park in the driveway (garage won’t be finished until March — Sheila found that funny as well), get out of my car and face whatever’s going to happen.

Guy wants to rob me? Take my fucking wallet, with its two twenties and a handful of cards I’ll cancel fifteen minutes after you’re gone. Sheila’s already got everything I had of value. That was the deal, she got the money, I got the house we’d bought on Green Valley Lane (which I’m now turning into, a left off Spicebush). She stays in the city, I move out to the ‘burbs, hit the reset button on my career, my life. Sorry bud, robbing me’s a waste of time at this point, all I got is a bunch of debt.

No activity on Green Valley Lane, per usual. Or maybe the guy wants to get rought with me, perhaps he is seeing Sheila now, getting her side of the story. Believes her story about abuse. I told my lawyer, challenged him to find any mark on her body, and he gave me some garbage about how she was claiming I was emotionally abusive. How do you prove that, I asked him, and then he shows me her affidavit, and I point out there’s no evidence, but he says I’d be taking a risk if I didn’t settle, challenged her in court. Path of least resistance. Write a check, and move one. But not this guy apparently, he wants to settle a score in a game he joined in the middle. You want a fight, buddy, I’ll give you one, work off some of this angry energy.

Pull up to my house. Don’t even bother to park in the driveway, it’s just dirt and gravel, can’t pour the pavement until spring. Check the rearview, boxy import pulls up to the lot right behind. It’s time. Shut off the engine, check the rearview again. The box’s lights go out.

Inhale, exhale. Let’s go. Open the car door, step onto the curb. Hear the box’s door open.

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