The Beetles

The cop motions me over to the curb in front of number twenty-two.  He’s a funny-looking creature in a Kevlar shell whose precise movements give the impression he’s still doing drills at the police academy.  He skitters to the car as I roll down the window.

Sorry sir but you have to turn back.

But this is my street.

There’s been an incident.

A TV news van rolls up and the cop smiles and waves it along.  I watch the bulging-eye logo brush past the cop, and looking further up the street I see that my yard has been cordoned off by yellow tape.

Wait a sec’. I open my door and step onto the pavement  That’s my house.  What’s going on?

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