Author: Greg Staggs
The icon alerting me that I had an instant message waiting to be read lit up as innocently as all the other times it ever had when someone messaged me through Facebook. I stole another glance to my left and identified the squirrel shuffling through the crisp November leaves, periodically burying his nose deep enough to hide his eyes from the still morning air. A pair of wood ducks raucously lifted off the slough to my right, and I scanned the water’s edge where it came up and lapped at the trees that marched out into its depths with extra care, looking for an animal that may have spooked them from their floating perches.
Satisfied I was alone for the present time, I turned my focus toward the phone in my hand and tapped the little button to open my message folder. A few seconds later that aforementioned innocence was gone. “Hey man, I think I’m pretty sure I know exactly where that spot is… Good luck to you.” Or something like that. It could have said I want to send you a million dollars; frankly, I couldn’t see past “I know where that spot is…”