Mrs. Chesterfield’s kitchen knife hovered over the six-inch box addressed to her new neighbor. Justin Alameda’s package had been delivered to her in error, and she intended to search it for evidence, reseal it, and leave it on his porch. The young man sported a purple pony tail, had a dragon tattoo, and left lights on all night. He was probably a gang leader or a drug dealer.
She steadied her hand, slit the box open, and lifted the flap. Visions of a front-page story in the town newspaper dissolved as packets of heirloom lettuce seeds spilled onto her lap.
Published in Issue #23