By day three of the heatwave, the stench had completely trapped Arthur inside his own home. It was suffocating, but when he looked out his front window, the rest of the cul-de-sac seemed completely oblivious. The wind currents kept the odor strictly localized to Arthur’s property line. Desperate for allies, Arthur cornered Marcus, a local fitness enthusiast, on the sidewalk. “Marcus, we have a gross violation of Section 4, Paragraph B regarding neighborhood air quality originating from Henderson’s garage.”
Marcus sniffed the air, looking confused. “I don’t smell anything, Artie. Are you sure your garbage disposal isn’t backing up or something?” “It’s a biohazard!” Arthur insisted, tapping his clipboard. “Henderson hasn’t been seen in days. His wife ‘left him’ three years ago, but did anyone actually see her pack a bag? What if he committed a crime and fled?” Marcus chuckled, stepping back. “Artie, you’re letting those true-crime podcasts get to your head. Leave the poor guy alone.”