We were standing on the sidewalk, casually observing social distancing rules, and talking as we waited for the Number 17 bus to the south of town. Though I’d never seen her before, the subject of collecting came up between us and I told the raven-haired beauty with red lips, that I did a lot of collecting.
I immediately rolled off a list of items for her, “Books, comics, old pictures, baseball cards…”
“I only collect hearts,” she smiled, as she cut me off, “And put them in jars.”
Too quickly I joined in her enthusiasm as I told her, “I like to collect the two-hearts from decks of playing cards. I have at least a thousand of them, including one that dates back to the American Civil War.”
Still smiling, she stated, “I’d love to see them.”
Again, a little too quickly, I suggested, “Would now be a good time?”
“Perfect,” she responded putting her arm through mine, as our bus pulled to the curb.
The following morning, when I didn’t show up for work, the police found my body, minus my heart, on my living room floor and a drying puddle of picante sauce by my side, but no jar.
The Old Blog in the Desert 
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