Bush Bag

I sat in my car at the end of a lot watching a doc about voyeurs. A figure appeared in the side mirror. Someone just feet from my bumper. They came into focus: a middle-aged woman looking to see if anyone was watching. My car was parked on its own and it seemed she couldn’t see me. She crouched as if to shit. Piss on pavement. Perhaps do drugs like the time I caught hobos smoking crack on the hood of my car. All of a sudden my doc came to life. I was the voyeur. I didn’t know what this woman was up to but it arrested my attention. I paused the movie and made eyes with the side mirror.

As she crouched her hand reached down. I thought it was to wipe her pussy. I’ve seen people piss everywhere, myself included, so this seemed within the realm of the real. But she wasn’t wiping. Wasn’t grabbing her crotch. The side mirror was tilted too high to catch the ground but it reflected her motion toward it. It seemed she was fiddling with something on the pavement.

She held a clear bag. It looked like one to stuff a garment. For a moment I thought her dog plopped a shit and she was cleaning its mess. But that wasn’t it. The bag was too big. Motion didn’t match. She sacked whatever it was then looked ’round and approached a row of bushes. The nose of my car nearly touched them. She was only feet from me. One look and she’d catch a man watching what she thought to be a private moment. I reclined the seat and pretended to play with my phone. To not be engrossed with her every step.

The woman tucked the bag beneath bushes. Whatever it was looked to be black. Now the garment theory made sense. It was a folded shirt being left for another. This registered as right considering her seeming need for secrecy. She didn’t want someone to steal it. I live in my car and hide crap all the time. Shit stuffed in bushes. Bags, bottles, and booze. I’m not the only one. I’ve witnessed others at it too.

Years back I sat in a lot waiting for sunset. A fat lady rolled by then stopped a couple cars over. She scanned the area before stuffing an item under a covering on a light pole. After she left I uncovered a bottle of pills enshrined in duct tape. I shook it to hear the shit rattle then set it back. A drug drop. Compared to that leaving a shirt in the bushes felt boring. The lady before me was but one in a long line of urban locker practitioners.

I kept watch as she crouched to the bag in the bushes. She ran her hand over plastic as if to pet the thing. Smooth the shirt out. Such care. She touched the bag a final time then walked away. I had to know what it was. Complete the voyeur’s voyage.

With the coast clear I went for a look-see. The shirt theory seemed to confirm itself. Then I drew closer. Pulled bag from bush. It felt off. Wrong shape. Too heavy. Through knotted plastic I saw inside then shrieked in surprise. Jumped back, heart beating hard. I looked again to confirm what I saw. It was what I thought. This wasn’t a shirt. It was an animal. A house pet.

The bag held a cat. One the color of a cow. Its coat so clean and even. It sat on its side, small body extended. Paws pressed in peace. It didn’t move. Didn’t breathe. I poked a finger. Still soft. No rot. No trauma. Just a body in a bag. Some cat left dead in the bushes.


Photo of the deceased. Not the most pleasant thing in the world: https://imgur.com/a/R1ip5qI

13 thoughts on “Bush Bag

      1. Just took a look. Now I gotta measure my D (after taking it out of the diaper I wear 24/7) and then decide how I want the world to view me.

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