I recently started walking my doggies in Amherst, as opposed to on my usual Sunderland route. My reasoning for this is that Sunderland has become rather stinky and bland since my friends, the inventors of BALL, moved elsewhere.
As it turns out, Amherst is the worst. While walking through downtown this past week, I smelled a putrid smell. I assumed my dear fluffy had pooed, as she often does. But no, her excitable colon was not to blame this time.
The stink emanated from one of the newspaper distribution boxes on the sidewalk - specifically, one of the strange boxes with fish decorations on it. Smoke bellowed from inside of it. I thought, what is this town? Can its residents not handle even the basics of roadway maintenance? Apparently not.
I tied off my doggies to a pole, put on my second layer of gloves (safety first!), and proceeded to investigate. When I peeled open the box’s lid, a flaming newspaper nearly burned my head off. I had no choice but to call in the professionals.
First-responders, who took far too long to arrive, seemed disinterested in the matter. One police officer, Tom, dismissed my call for help, saying “Don’t worry, lady, those newspapers are best used for kindling anyway.”
I truly don’t understand Amherst. If there’s anything I learned on my trip to the town, it’s that Sunderland is where I belong.
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