Okay, the battery of tests are done. Doc says I look okay. No murmurs in my heart, no clouds in my lungs.

This was actually quite a pleasant visit. Doc was in a pleasant, chatty, unhurried mood (this being his first day back after a week of fishing in Glacier might have something to do with that).

Watched the needle go into my arm for the blood tubes, and literally did not even feel it. Felt the sweat on my brow, but no prick in my arm. That's two great stabs in a row for this gal.

She's good. With needles, anyway.

Not so good with the EKG machine. First ended up with more contacts stuck to me than she had wires to the machine, and then couldn't get half the readings on the machine to work.

Apparently I was half dead. Or half my heart, anyway.

So, she got help from a more experienced hand, who promptly suggested they take all the sticky contacts off and start again. Apologizing for the loss of chest hair as they slowly ripped ten or eleven of these things off my skin.

Me, I was laying there trying so hard not to think about two women standing above me, helpless, as they inflicted tingling pain on my body. That would have brought a physical reaction I did not want to have.

So.

Ahem.

Anyway, that wasn't what I wanted to talk about here.

On the way home, I passed Tin Can Hill.

Tin Can Hill is a vacant hill along the main drag of town. In town, not at the edge. Don't have any idea who owns Tin Can Hill, but they apparently have no objections to folks just parking their old, unwanted vehicles on the property alongside the road with a "For Sale" sign stuck in the window.

Which almost everybody does when the time comes. Usually three or four outfits parked there on any given day.

Well, the old Suburban is still there. With all the huge rock holes in the windows.

You see, even in this small town, we occasionally get vandalism. Rare that anything ever happens to vehicles left on Tin Can Hill, but this spring, it did. Windows busted out on every vehicle parked on the public lot. Shortly before the end of the school year.

Now this is the part that is interesting, the part that is different about a small town.

The windows were busted out by a bunch of bored high school kids.

Okay. Nothing unusual there. But you might ask, "How do you know who did this?"

We know this, because they later, at school, found out the Suburban belonged to a friend of theirs.

So they confessed to him, and offered to pay for the damage.

Cool, huh?

And then he turned them in to the cops, because they weren't willing to confess and compensate the owners of the other vehicles.

Cool again.