‘I mean, nobody ever thought he would do anything like that!’ ‘God no’ ‘Stuff like that just doesn’t happen in places like this. That’s, well, that’s TV stuff isn’t it?’ ‘Sure is dear’ ‘I just don’t know what we’ll do. The place has never been the same since it happened. We all lock our doors and watch our back and, oh dear, it’s just awful’ ‘It really is’ ‘Of course, I feel for her family the most, that goes without saying. But we’ve been affected to. We’re hurting also, I can tell, we’re really hurting’ ‘We sure are’ ’50 years I’ve lived in this street and not a hint more trouble than someone misplacing their house keys, and then…Oh, I can’t even say what he did, it’s just too awful. It’s really just too awful’ ‘It really is’ ‘We just don’t know who to blame. I mean, him of course, but who else? His parents are born, bred town people and they’ve never set a foot wrong in anyone’s eyes so it aint’ them. If they were the cause of something down right mean as this, well then the whole town would be, oh well, that doesn’t bear a second thought now does it dear?’ ‘No dear, not a second’ ‘I can only think maybe it was that music he listened to? He was into all that black boys stuff, you know, with the beats and the shouting and the words. Oh, I mean, that’s very violent music isn’t it? I’m not being racist here, but really, if you ever listened to that stuff well jeez, it’s just so angry and so, well, so awful. And about what? I mean, really, what’s a good kid from around here doing listening to their kind of, sorry that’s wrong, that kind of music. We have nothing against blacks you understand, it’s just that music that’s not meant for the likes of us. People like us in places like this, we’re not part of that world’ ‘It’s very loud’ ‘You’re right dear, too loud for the likes of us. Anyway, my point is, if he was filling his head with all of that, instead of all the good sense he was getting from his parents and those of us along the street, well, time was only going to come when something bad happened’ ‘Bound to happen so it was’ ‘As I said, our hearts go out to that girl and her family, what an end, what a dreadful way to go. But then you’ve got to think of his family too. What a waste of all their effort! How must they be feeling? That boy, he had it all on a plate. A lovely home, a settled family, anything he could ask for from a car to a new TV. His Dad owns that big distribution depot up on the edge of town, had a seat all warmed up for him in the management team. One day he would have owned that place, become a figure in the town, had himself a few good holidays every year and bring up some kids the local way. And now, oh dear, now he’s nowhere, all that potential and all those opportunities gone in a moment of madness: one crazy moment of madness. That poor family, what must they be feeling now?’ ‘I was very fond of him actually. In a way he was different to the other kids, but in a good way, back then at least. Always very polite, always asking questions, always very curious about what else was out there. Not that I know a lot about much of anything else, barely leave the town these days to be honest. But, I would do my best to answer his questions and he was always very kind and thankful when I did. Yeh, he changed a little as he got older, a little hot-headed, seemed real het up about nothing from time to time, but most of the days he was an athlete and a gent and nothing less. Can’t make make no head nor tail of what got him from that to this, but it’s very sad. I’m sad for the girl; sad for the waste; sad for the families and sad for this place. This was a real nice town and now, auch, we’re just another place where a bad thing happened. Just another town like everywhere else’ ‘Just another town, going about all the usual business nice and quite, and then this. Makes you wonder what kind of world we’re living in these days. This was such a nice place before all this’ ‘It sure was dear, it sure was’

“You go ask,” says Sheree. “I’m shooting pictures.” I look blankly at her. This is not what I had in mind at all. “You’re the people person,” I remind her. “And you’re naturally cute. YOU should ask.” “You’re the husband,” she says. “Go.” My mental referee calls it “Game, Set and Match.” Sheree has played the Husband Card, which actually counts for double, since today is our anniversary. We are in an auto wrecking yard near Lamont, Alberta. There is a fence with no nonsense barbed wire. It is festooned with “NO TRESSPASSING” signs. The only thing missing from the picture is a hillbilly in an ancient rocking chair with a shotgun across his lap and an inbred dog with yellow teeth, bloodshot eyes and a nasty disposition lying in a puddle of its own drool. Sheree has decided we are going to shoot here. Geez. It’s an amazing place. There are over four thousand cars waiting to be chopped and crushed. I am remembering how often movies link gangsters to wrecking yards, and I am thinking about a scene where a would-be informant was crushed alive in his own car as I cross the dusty yard. The sun is warm on my skin. I love the sun, I think. I am going to miss it after I am dead, trapped in a cube of crushed metal. I sigh. I open the office door, and peer into the way too dim interior. “How you doing?” booms a friendly voice from behind the counter. I cross the room and see a blonde guy with a biker’s nap on his head. He’s standing there like he’s been waiting for me and he’s grinning. At me. Maybe I’m not going to die after all… “Beautiful day,” I observe shrewdly. I am, of course, procrastinating. I am trying to come up with an excuse for why an apparently brain dead photographer ignores all the “NO TRESSPASSING” signs and is standing in an office in the middle of rural Alberta (where a person could, like just disappear…) about to ask if he can take pictures. “Yup,” the biker guy booms. Again. “You a photographer, huh?” I nod, not trusting my voice. “You want to take pictures, huh?” I nod again. After all – it’s been working for me so far. “Go ahead,” he says. “We used to get a lot of photographers out here.” I decide not to ask where the bodies are buried, since he doesn’t seem to be the body burying type. Instead, I thank him and head back out into the sunlight. Sweet sunlight. Sheree is engrossed in photographing a broken down tractor. “So?” she asks. “Well…it took some persuading,” I say shaking my head wearily. I am the Returning Hero. “But I talked them into it.” She nods, like she expected no less and turns her attention back to the tragic looking tractor she is shooting. I consider telling her the truth about the biker guy and the fact that they are really friendly after all. …nah. So we spent two plus hours of our anniversary together shooting. She goes her way and I go mine and we meet up every once in a while. This seems to fit us way better than a dinner out or a houseful of friends. I came across these lug nuts on the rusted seat of a tractor. Seizing the opportunity to turn my art to a communication of yet another cosmic truth, I shot this image. So here it is. Tuh dum.