Monday, August 24, 2009
The Cursed Thief
On that last lovely trip Jim and I took to Michigan, Martin took us to Hell, where we bought a few souvenirs, including the plastic Jesus seen above.
When Jim shot himself, he braced the butt of the gun against this tree, and the police further abused it by cutting a chunk out of it to take for evidence. I thought long and hard about having it cut down, but thought that might be worse than seeing that hole in it every day. I put some small tokens into the hole, and stood the plastic Jesus at the base of the tree. There it rested, ever since.
Until recently. Brendan has been cleaning up the front yard for me, raking leaves and such, and he noticed that it was gone.
Some asshole stole my plastic Jesus from the shrine I had placed for my husband.
That can't be good.