Shower

    The shed behind the museum vanishes overnight. I don't know where it has gone, and I find that I'm not even curious. So many stories are like this. No resolution, no denouement. The sidewalk remains clear for a couple of weeks until an enormous orange tent springs up. A note pinned to it reads "I work at the Safeway across the street, do not fuck with my stuff or I will fuck with you."

    One night, I'm grabbing a few things at that very Safeway when a short, sun-scorched woman with an untamed shock of orange hair approaches and says she's just moved into the area and asks if I could let her use my shower. She doesn't ask for money or food, just a shower. I feel bad; what kind of person am I to not let someone just take a shower? But of course I don't. I keep picturing all the things that could go wrong, and my fear overcomes my compassion. She smiles and says God Bless and pads over to a young couple examining the nutritional information printed on the back of a large bag of chicken nuggets shaped like dinosaurs. 

    A few days later I get a notice in the mail that my rent is going up.