“What the fuck are you doing on my property??!!”

I AM IN SO MUCH TROUBLE.

I’m drunk. My face is covered in dirt and gravel, and my pressed, black, dress-shirt and slacks are dusty from the ground I have been laying on for the past 30 minutes.

I am in so much trouble.

He was scared out of his mind. I didn’t want him to be scared, just let me explain and everything will be coo-

“What the fuck are you doing here? Who the fuck are you?!”

He is about 6’5, 250lbs, late 40′s, athletic, and just pulled up in a very nice, white Cadillac SUV.

I brace myself, knowing that no matter what I say, I am about to get punched directly in my face. Like, my face, face. Like, the one that holds my eyes, nose and mouth. It will be a clear shot. I won’t even block him if he tries. I can’t feel anything anyways.

I am in so much trouble.

Right as he is about to strike me I shout the only thing I think will stop him.

I stutter, “Here’s my phone. Call my-”

Grabbing my iPhone, he doesn’t lose eye contact with me as he throws it about 10 yards and says,

“I don’t give a fuck who I have to call, I saw you looking through my windows.”

Oh, fuck me. Unless I was lying on the skylight of your cellar, there is no way I was looking through a window.

He must have realized at some point that if I tried to attack him that he could easily take me, because he grabs my shoulder and slams me down on the driveway. I sit up and rest against his luxury SUV.

I am in so much trouble.

“Stay there, I’m calling the cops right fucking now.”

Trespassing. DUI. Public intoxication. General creepiness. These were the charges I knew would get brought against me. Instead of figuring out where to run, or leave, I decided to just sit there. I sat upright. Proper posture. I was going to own up to every bit of this…

I was in so much trouble.

I could hear him on the phone with 911, he wasn’t lying. He wasn’t fucking around.

“Yeah, I just caught some guy looking through my windows, scoping out my house, he is wearing all black.”

Dude, I was passed out in your gravel. Are you seriously going to embellish like my girlfriend telling me how “big” a spider is in the shower?

“I don’t know, probably trying to break in. I-, I don’t know, hold on. Hey, why were you here?”

I stared right at him. My eyes were swollen from crying, I couldn’t control my hyperventilating, and then I managed to get out,

I work two jobs, go to school, and raise a 5-year-old. I was going to ask you how you got where you were in life, because judging by your house…you’ve done pretty fucking well. I drank too much and passed out in your side yard while looking at the view.

He doesn’t buy it.

“Bull-fucking-shit. You’re wearing all black. You expect me to believe you were just laying on the ground?”

Yeah. It’s my serving uniform at the grill. You know us cat-burglars, pressed dress shirt, steamed slacks, buffed, shined black shoes. All so we won’t be seen…in broad fucking daylight.

-TIME OUT-

It should be noted that in my free time I enjoy-

• movies
• comedy
• running
• drinking
• anything with my son
• and driving around rich neighborhoods getting inspired by large, custom houses

It’s an odd past time. Let it also be noted that I hang out in airports just for the sheer joy of it. An airport is usually the last place you see before knowing you are leaving Reno for a while, even if I am not going anywhere, just knowing I could eventually is relaxing to me.

I look at houses as inspiration, I always have. I have always had some daydream that one day I would ring the doorbell of one of these homes, the owner would answer, and proceed to give me all their advice on how to follow in their fortune.

I rang the doorbell. No one answered.

I then went around the side yard, where there is a beautiful view of Reno. I sat on the gravel to gaze, which eventually became full-on…passing out.

-TIME IN-

He is still on the phone with 911.

“He’s about 6’1″

I say loud and calm, “5’10″

“I don’t know about 150″

I say loud and calm, “175.”

“Black hair.”

I say loud and calm, “Brown.”

It’s at this point he does a double take and starts to calm down.

“His car is right by my house, it’s um, blue”

I say loud and calm, “Black.”

“Some kind of Suzuki I think”

I say loud and calm, “1999 Chevy Tracker.”

“Don’t worry, I don’t think this kid isn’t going anywhere, actually.

Then something happened…

He walks over, squats down and sits next to me.

I look at him and say, “I have a house, I have a family, a dog. If I were to come home and see someone I didn’t know on my lawn, it would scare the shit out of me. I would fear for what that person intended to do to me or them.”

He doesn’t respond to me. He glances at me and looks at my forehead and my clothes.

“You’ve got, um, you’ve got dust on your forehead, and your clothes.”

It’s what happens when you sleep on gravel. He sighs, and begins to speak again, slower and much calmer,

“I um…I worked three jobs while going to college, I know how it can be with the pressure an-”

The cops arrive to ruin our moment; along with a firetruck, and an ambulance. This is going to be a very expensive fuck-up on my part.

I get blanketed, checked out, and put into the ambulance where I finally ask,

“Where are we going? Am I going to jail? Am I getting arrested?”

“What? Are you kidding? After what you did…no.”

What? How?

“We can’t take people to jail who say they want to commit suicide. You’ll be on a 72 hour legal hold in the Northern Nevada Adult Mental Health Center.”

Wait, I said what?

I am in so much trouble.