December 17, 2011
I’m not sure what woke me first that morning, the ringing of my telephone, or the shrill screaming of my neighbor as he beat loudly on my bedroom window. Although, now that I think about it, I’m sure it was the latter.
“Winston! Winston, wake up! Wake up!” he yelled.
“What do you want, Clive?” If my furious tone had any affect on him, he didn’t show it.
“Winston! Oh, thank God! I need your help!”
“Have you killed someone? Because, if this isn’t as serious as a murder, I’m not getting out of this bed!” I threatened, looking at the window.
“This is good, I swear! It may even be the find of the century!” he promised.
I groaned inwardly. This wasn’t the first time my amateur archaeologist neighbor had boasted the ‘find of the century’, only to have it turn into the centuries’ biggest flop.
“Come on, buddy! If it’s nothing this time, I…I’ll never bother you again!”
My ears perked up instantly. “Never?” I asked, intrigued by the thought.
“Never!” Clive reiterated.
This was too good of an opportunity to pass up. “Fine, but I want that in writing!”
He nodded eagerly. “Whatever you say, man! I’ll see you at the diner!”, and with a final nod he was off, taking my peaceful Saturday with him.