“It’s less than two miles from the airport,” he said. “Find the loudest house. I mean, ‘His voice turned into a whisper.’ Biggest”
“It’s a very famous house,” he said. “The anti-slavery regime started from there.”
I knew about this property from my previous research. It was once a huge buttery mansion owned by Prime Minister William Pitt Small. The reason I’ve ruled it out as a potential cruise home is because the property was sold to a used car magnate in 2018 for £8.5m, at least from what I read in Car Dealer magazine in 2020. Judging, the used car king appeared to be quite a luxury car. comfortably wrapped in it. But it was only a few miles away. On foot, this trip can be completed by him in just over an hour.
Exactly how I’ve come to the edge of the woman’s property again, but I don’t know. The road trip up to that point seemed to take me into a whole new realm. Suddenly I realized that the road disappeared into a deep forest. This is what happened yesterday, I thought, when I trespassed in that lady’s field, and I looked up and saw her house in the distance.
I panicked. I scared a badger – likewise, baby! Then I ran through the woods as fast as I could in a new randomly chosen direction. This put me into vast realms I had never encountered before. Up until now, the road had been thriving cow parsley on thin shin-high stalks. Here, upright hordes graze my shoulders, their fallen comrades entwined around my ankles. A needle of genuine panic pricked my nape under my sweaty hair. Statistically speaking, I told myself, I was unlikely to be stuck in this field long enough to die there.
That said, wouldn’t it be good for the woman if I died in this field, very close to her field, in a field where I was not allowed? “It will teach her a lesson,” I said into the audio recorder I brought with me in case I ran into Tom Cruise. “She needs to find some way to notify her,” I explained. (about my death) I hope she sees my photo in the newspaper! It would be another good thing to die here, I told the chronicler. It would “help” the editor who recklessly assigned me this article, the editor who irresponsibly approved my travel budget. It will probably ruin his life, or at least his working life. God, will he be fired? Sure, at least he’ll get into trouble. I shouldn’t have let her go to a small town in England.. Would our boss tell him not to blame himself? I hope not, but I died because of him! Of course I didn’t want to die, but if I did, at least I would die doing what I love, which is to make people feel uncomfortable and rightly annoy me. When the image in my mind of my widowed wife was not yet clear, I found myself stumbled halfway down a dirt path leading into the neighborhood. I ran down there and was shocked to discover the exact direction of the used-car dealer’s palatial compound.
