Some nights he could swear that he heard her soft footsteps at the door accompanied by an indiscernible clatter and faint scratching sound that he

[FatDicTheOverWeighterInveg8r 0]

guessed might be Mary struggling to find her keys in the darkened front porch. The same porch they had spent so many splendid summers eves rocking back and forth on the swing in each others arms But every time when he would rush to the door heart bursting with hope that finally his sweet Mary had returned to him after running away with the garbage man, it was only the Raccoons rummaging through the heaps of putrid trash that had collected on the porch and on the swing. And on the front yard leading up to the curb. Once he even saw them fucking. The Raccoons, not Mary and the garbage man.