Brought to You by the Number Three.....

Yesterday started off cloudy, but it started to burn off around noon. Looked to be a nice day for a walk, so I grabbed my CD Player and some CDs - Harry Chapin, Jimmy Buffett (I like to hear the words) - and headed up to Shoprite to pick up some food for the weekend.

On my way back along Freeman Street, I noticed a Post Office truck parked about a block and a half ahead of me. I did a quick scan of my surroundings - no people about, no cars coming or going. I took the Flasher from my back pocket and held it down by my side. I came up closer to the truck....closer....closer. Then I realized I could hear voices - or more accurately, one voice, the driver's. She (and, yes, the Postman was a girl) was talking on a cell phone while paging through a catalog or magazine. I now had proof that Postmen do read our mail. Damn! I couldn't take a chance on the Postman, because I didn't want to raise any suspicion in whomever she was speaking to. If the line suddenly went dead (no pun intended) then the other party may raise an alarm when they can't reconnect. I'm not supposed to attract any attention.

With the Flasher still in my hand, I passed by the truck. She didn't even look in my direction. Damn civil servants. I kept walking, and was going to put the Flasher back in my pocket when I became conscious of the sound of a lawn mower just ahead. A couple of feet brought my into sight of a middle-aged man energetically pushing a mower back and forth over his back yard. Another quick scan. Still no one. Point, push, Flash, and as he fell to the side and the mower continued to move away from him, I passed on by toward the corner. I looked at my watch as I put the Flasher away. I'd be home in time to see "Cold Case" on TNT.