The Prisoner of Snowflake Falls

The Prisoner of Snowflake Falls by John Lekich Page A

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Authors: John Lekich
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wristwatch once in a while,” he said. Picking up half of his sandwich, he took a big bite and started to chew like it was a job he enjoyed. “Nobody expects a wristwatch to match anything except their wrist.”
    â€œWhat kind of sandwich is that?” I asked.
    â€œIt is a concoction of my own invention,” explained Lenny. “Sardines, raw onion and peanut butter on pumpernickel.” Lenny stopped chewing for a moment and added, “I know it sounds gross. But the more you experience it, the more you appreciate it.”
    â€œHow much experience do you need?” I asked.
    â€œIt depends on how adventurous your taste buds are,” said Lenny as he resumed chewing.
    I must have been experiencing a severe attack of sandwich envy, because I snapped at him, “Are you going to take the chairs or not?”
    Lenny did not get angry. He just squinted at me. I noticed he was staring at a squashed leaf that was stuck to the front of my T-shirt. “No offense,” he said, “but you look like you’ve just come back from a very discouraging trip to the woods.”
    I was about to answer when my stomach growled loudly. Lenny was looking at me the way I’d seen him look at certain customers who were down on their luck. Elderly types who brought in old cuckoo clocks or porcelain figurines of puppies rolling around in the grass. “Okay,” he said. “Against my better judgment, I’ll give you five bucks for the lawn chairs. And because of our longstanding professional relationship, I’ll throw in the unused half of my sandwich.”
    â€œDeal,” I said, taking the uneaten half of his sandwich and trying to bite into it as nonchalantly as possible. It tasted weird at first, but I was so hungry that I just kept chewing.
    After a couple of bites, I apologized to Lenny for being cranky. “I understand what you mean about the patio umbrella,” I said, “but the dermatologist says Chester should avoid direct sunlight.”
    â€œNo names please,” said Lenny. “Too much personal information upsets my digestion.”
    He watched me eat for a while.
    â€œYou know something?” I said. “This sandwich is pretty good.”
    Lenny sighed. “Okay, ten bucks,” he said. “But for that, you’re going to have to listen to some free advice.”
    â€œOkay,” I said. “Shoot.”
    â€œGet out of the business, Henry. I’d hate to see you get nabbed for stealing a lawn sprinkler.”
    â€œAnd why would that happen?” I asked.
    â€œBecause you’re losing your nerve,” said Lenny. “And when a burglar loses his nerve, he might as well steal a pair of handcuffs, put them on himself and wait for the police car on the curb.”
    Personally, my feelings were very hurt by Lenny’s advice. But I tried not to show it. I told myself that Lenny was wrong. But tonight I observed a perplexed Evelyn squeezing Ginger’s toy mouse. It was almost as if she thought the resulting squeak would tell her what the heck it was doing in her kitchen.
    I feel quite bad for making Evelyn think she is losing it. I am also very disappointed in myself. It was the first time I’d ever slipped up and left something behind in a patron’s house. It makes me think that maybe Lenny was right. Maybe I am slipping, burglary-wise.
    My stomach lets out a surprisingly loud growl. And I realize that I am feeling hungry again. Have you ever heard that expression listen to your gut ? It means that you should do what you feel you’ve got to do without thinking about it too much.
    Well, I am listening to my actual gut while trying to listen to my gut at the same time. There is nothing like lying in a dark tree house and listening to your stomach growl to make you wonder what happened to your professional pride. I decide that there was only one thing left to do. Right after I make the decision, my stomach growls

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