ET Go Home

It was a piece of prime real estate situated in a suburban cul-de-sac. The lawns cut every day. Just the sort of place you could take the dog for a walk, the kids could rip up the pavement with their BMXs and trick bikes. (ET go home, yeh). That was it, the Middle Amerikas of modest success and ambition that somehow flunked out around the middle eighties.

A man wearing latex gloves emerged from the house.

The neighbour was saying to the Globe man:

All I know is he pays his rent and he’s a nice guy.

They brought out the stash. Box upon box of top shelf material, adult home movies, virtual reality sex toys…

The Commissioner, half in melancholy, half in disgust, went home.