He’d been acting funny all day. The office was the office but different. Different equipment. Differ layout. Different furniture. Different building. Different town. But somehow only I know that the setting is wrong. Something was different with his attitude too. The same laid-back perhaps even pacifist dude he’s always been but hiding something. And maybe it was because we weren’t particularly close that he tapped me for the favor. I needed a ride anyways. So we get into his Jeep (doesn’t he drive a Subaru) and we pull around the back of the building. He’s telling me a story but I’m not really paying attention. It’s hard to listen to him when I get this sense that there’s something else going on. There’s a large parcel in the back, poorly wrapped in tarpaulin. What has he gotten me in to? Not OK. We get around back and he backs the Jeep Wrangler up to the dumpster. Help But Don’t Look. The tarp is the old fashioned canvas kind. Not platic. So it’s much quieter as we scoot it across air from the rear of the Jeep to its loud thud into the dumpster. This wasn’t a week’s worth of garbage. He looks more relieved already and before I can say I Don’t Smoke, he’s got an American Spirit (yellow box) lit between my lips. It’s too short and the filter is too long.