Hollywood was at large, somewhere in the Wedgwood neighborhood. Marge and Bob's television blared the news that the bank robber's hideout location had been narrowed down to a two-mile radius, but his actual whereabouts were still unknown. Marge turned to Bob and laughed. “I guess he's really close to us” Marge said. “Gee, wouldn't it be funny if he was hiding in that old trailer behind our house? No one has camped in that thing for years.”
Bob laughed. “We've needed to air it out since at least 1987” he said. “I think Hollywood is used to nicer digs, with all of his loot.”
Marge smiled. “I'll go out there and check”, she said. She strode to the back door, yanked it open, and stepped out into her neat backyard. Flowerpots lined both sides of the picket fence. The trailer was parked in back, half-covered by blackberry vines. Its windows were coated with mildew, and all four of the tires were flat. Marge hesitated for a moment, then peered into the back window. There, in the rear of the trailer, was a shadowy form, half-covered by an old army blanket. The blanket trembled slightly, and then was still. Marge scurried rapidly away, ran back into the safety of the house. “I think we'd better call the cops” she said.
Leah is a writer, astrologer, avid yoga practitioner, and a lover of craft beer, organic gourmet meals and good company. Her work has recently appeared in Cultured Vultures (as Poem of the Week), Silver Birch Press, Bop Dead City, Talking Soup, Quail Bell, Dirty Chai, Five 2 One, and Writing Raw, and she will be featured in Fall 2015 by Origins Journal. She also has a chapbook called "Queen of Dorksville", published in 2012 by Crisis Chronicles Press, available on Amazon.