Liar...liar...pants on fire.
My writing is often interupted when someone comes to the front door. Usually, it's a neighbor kid that wants to play with my kids. No big deal. Of course, there are those times when it's someone bringing me to Jesus. Today, it was a kid about 13. He was nervous as hell and twitching.
"I'm collecting for the Suburban Life for Kenny. He's out of town and he asked me to swing by to pick up the money," Twitchy says.
Yeah...right. I have this bridge I'd like to sell...
My response, "I'll pay Kenny when he comes back into town."
I shut the door and watched through the glass as twitchy runs down my front steps, across my driveway, darts across the street without looking, races down the block, and turns left where a friend is waiting for him.
For giggles, I called my neighbors on either side to ask if the "paper kid" tried to get their money for "Kenny." Nope. Just me. I thought about calling the local law, but that would be more time than I wanted to put into the entire ordeal.