Post #3 December

I am a tough girl. Drop me in a haunted house and I won't scream, spiders have never made my skin crawl, but I guarantee if you put me in a waiting room of a police station, you will see my palms sweat. The police on the Southside have a weird secrecy to them. I drove down to the station today after receiving a phone call regarding Mr. Evan's death. I've had a few encounters with the Southside police, but I've never been called down to the station.  Junior year was what you may call a "low" for me. I racked up some minor traffic violations so I don't have the most flawless history. I have had a bad rep with the officers to begin with so I knew that this visit would not be fun. After waiting in the lobby of the station for nearly half an hour, I was pulled back into a small, suffocating room. Officer Conway began by asking me about the night that I saw Mr. Evans in the diner. I was very tempted to respond, "Well Mr. Officer, I was not entirely sober, so I'm going to have to get back to you about that." Instead I choose to keep to myself and try my best to remember details from that amusing night.
"I remember Mr. Evans eating all by himself in a booth near the rear of the restaurant, I told Conway. "It was around two thirty in the am and I was wondering why he was out so late."
"I remembered that while I was waiting for my waffle to come, he stepped outside of the dinner and got on his phone, it looked like he was receiving a phone call, but I didn't pay much attention."
He continued to obnoxiously type into his computer and then he asked me about where I went after I left the diner. Officer Conway was really overstepping his boundaries. Why was he trying to pry into my life as if I was some criminal in this investigation. I responded, "I finished dinner and drove home with my friends. We watched Hulu movies for a little and then went to bed." They determined that the cause of death was heart failure, so why is the force beginning to investigate it as if something else really happened. The officer paused from asking me questions and began to shuffle through some stapled papers that were lying on his office desk. I glanced over at them and noticed my name was on a short list, along with the seven other girls that I was with that night.

Post #2 November

I stood in line, at Little Teddy's, for nearly twenty five minutes by myself, which gave me a bit of time to think. When I'm alone, doing absolutely nothing, my brain tends to wonder off and this time I started thinking about Thanksgiving Break. Dad was trying to plan a "lovely family vacation" where we could all spend "lovely quality time" with one another. My parents want to go on some special trip, since it's my senior year. I suppose it would be nice to have a vacation to take our minds off the troubling events that have happened, but frankly I would much rather just stay home. It's safe to say that I've always been a homebody. I find myself feeling anxious and a little uneasy whenever I leave home for an extended amount of time.

Post #1 October

I typically wake up at nine o'clock and am instantly bombarded with the nasty panting and drool from my thirteen year old fat lab, Boie. However, this morning I woke up to the sound of police sirens echoing through the street. I assumed that one of those idiot middle schoolers had stolen from the convenient store again. I am usually home alone most hours of the day. Mom and Jimmy travel for work all the time and leave me alone with my obnoxious Aunt Amy.  Most days, she wakes up with a stick in her behind and can be found screaming at the morning news because the weather is too cold, or the gas prices are too high. This morning I couldn't find her. It was a disgusting day, so I figured she wasn't outside smoking a cigarette.

 I made myself a bowl of oatmeal, flipped on the tv and saw breaking news of the death of Mr. Evans. The news anchor reported that his body was found in parking spot 303. I immediately thought of how I saw Mr. Evans at the Breakfast in Bed Diner last Friday. I don't recall Mr.Evans looking very sickly, but I was coming back from a gathering with my friends, and slightly tipsy. I remember wondering why he was out, eating so late. I knew Mr. Evans particularly well. He would often stroll down the street aimlessly. On occasion he would cut the ivy that swallowed the entrance of the apartments.

Suddenly, out of the corner of my eye, I saw Boie crouch in the corner of the living room and knew exactly what was about to happen. I grabbed him my his collar and rushed to drag him out the apartment, down the stairs, through the lobby and to the front yard of the building. Because it was still sprinkling, I figured he'd be good and stay in the yard, and I ducked back into the lobby. Old Man Jenkins was sitting in his chair, picking at pieces of the fountain. If you asked me, I would tell you that Jenkins was a freak. Everyone in the apartment thinks he is this wise, saintlike, old man, but I'm not convinced. I typically try to avoid conversation with him, but as I stood there listening to his muttering, I decided to wave and act friendly. He did not seem amused by my kind gesture, which reassured me that the feeling was probably mutual. I awkwardly shuffled back to the yard to get Boie