The snails were almost to my trailer when I spotted them. They carried little signs written in snail language while circling the loafer I’d forgotten in the grass. I went inside and popped a Miller.
When the snail convoy had completed the circle, they lit my loafer on fire and chanted “Death to Speedy.” I extinguished the loafer with the last of the Miller. The snails regrouped and headed for my stairs.
I should talk with them and try to settle our differences like gentlemen. But, it’s summer in Tucson. Too hot for talking. Instead, every week, I inch the trailer a few feet forward.
John Philipp writes a weekly humor column for six Marin County, California, newspapers and has won several national contests for his fiction, humor, and memoir writing. He is currently revising his first novel. Everything he’s ever written has been published if you include his mother’s refrigerator door. Find him on Facebook.