“Sometimes questions are more important than answers.” -Nancy Willard

The problem with having an active imagination is reality rarely trumps it. Or even equals it, for that matter.

This truck has been sitting in the same spot for over a week. I'm surprised it hasn't been reported, cordoned off, hazmated, drug-sniffed, bomb-sniffed, and removed from the premises yet. Does nobody remember 9/11?

But after deciding to check it out myself last night I started wondering about what I hoped to find.

I honestly expected it to be empty, which would have led to some simple jokes and a quick wrap-up to this story. Another obvious joke about Al Capone's Vaults or something lame like "They're digging in the wrong place!"

Maybe empty except for a dead, dried-out crow (they're everywhere around here because of the restaurants). After sitting in 80+ degree weather for a week at least the story would have ended on a nicely gruesome note.

Or, if I'd been lucky, it would have been something harmless but weird. A truck full of manikins, or thousands of empty cigar boxes, or maybe just pallet after pallet of left-handed scissors.

And of course the least favorable, but still interesting, would have been some sort of crime scene. Stolen flat-screen TVs; meth-lab debris; a large brown bloodstain.

The truth turned out to be so boring I considered not even following up with this post. Here then is the photographic evidence from last night's 'adventure', proving once again how boring reality can be:

No lock! I'm way too old for this to still thrill me....



What the? Building materials? A hand truck?



I mean come on, where's the excitement? A box of nails?

sheesh.

And the final reveal; you can't really read it in this picture but I recognized the font used on that sign, and then the name. It's "Varlamos Pizzeria", the Italian restaurant down the block from us. Apparently they've done some remodelling, and this truck is just the temporary overflow. Construction flotsam.

Which explains why nobody's had the truck towed, I'm sure the property managers know what's up.


I've been Geraldo'd.