All those storied are going to have to wait.
The ones I keep imagining as I pedal past houses and fences and piles of debris. I don't have a radio to listen to as I ride to work in the morning, so I entertain myself with tales of the unexplained. If only for a short while. The bike ride and the time it takes me to come up with the truth surrounding the circumstances of what might have led to that car being shoved most of the way onto the sidewalk and the driver's side front quarter-panel crushed like tin foil.
The tire tracks leading up to it suggest otherwise.
In those morning hours with so very few witnesses or even additional worried souls making their way past the scene of the crime. Or was it a crime? Maybe it was a car that had already been damaged and someone did a terrifically bad job parking it before going inside to call the nearest body shop.
Which brings me to the focus of my daily trips to and from school over the past year: The building that now occupies what used to be a hole in the ground about one third of the way from my house to work. It is no longer a hole, but instead of evolving into a lovely new home for some lucky family to occupy, four townhouse-y units now crowd the lot. The pair in the back have a glorious view of the back of and identical structure and one can only surmise that landscaping will be out of the question since it is already a very small pathway between these cramped spaces. Who will live there? Why would they live there? Whose idea was this anyway?
Over the next couple months, the siding will go on, and I suspect the plumbing and electrical will be complete. It's possible that the next time I ride by I may not recognize them as they blend into the neighborhood firmament. Or maybe I will stop on the way home some afternoon and knock on the door, asking if I could perhaps come in and take a look around. I don't need to stick my nose into their business, exactly. I just want to know what happened.