There had been a murder.
They called me in. It wasn’t my usual neighborhood, but I owed the Captain a favor. When I got there, I knew I wasn’t at home. This was a friendly neighborhood. Well lit. Windows left open. Cars without bats on the steering wheels. Here, people trusted other people.
I made my way past the police tape. Every cop there stared at me. They were all dressing in their finest outfits. Me, in my beaten up trench coat and fedora.
Couldn’t wait to get out of here.
And then I saw it. The victim.
It was unlike anything I had ever seen. I stopped dead in my tracks. I had to physically close my mouth with my hand. My cigarette fell to the ground. How could this be? I didn’t understand what I was looking.
I took a hesitant step forward, and CSI interrupted me.
“What you see is what you get.”
I didn’t say anything, but my face said, Are you kidding me?
“Looks like a straight forward murder.”
“No,” I said. “It looks like a dead 8-foot tall yellow bird. What part is straight forward?”
There had been a murder on Sesame Street.