drawing the line

Skunks are not big sellers at the road kill cafe. One Monday morning, I passed a fallen creature of the woods. A skunk had shuffled off this mortal coil, its life snuffed out by a passing car or truck. I must admit, I thought of Flower from Bambi. Poor little fellow. Tuesday morning, I thought, still there? Doesn’t anything eat skunks? Wednesday morning, I averted my gaze and held my breath. The following Monday arrived. Ahhhh, a new week, I would take a different route to work. Sadly, a detour led me in a loop and spit me back out at just the right spot to pass the skunk again. Absence had not made my heart grow fonder. In fact familiarity was breeding contempt. Aromatherapy and all things natural are well and good, but you have to draw the line somewhere, and the centre line of 88th Ave. is where I’m drawing mine.