Daily story, September 8, 2025

There were crumbs in the butter. Crumbs and a great big knife mark, under the foil seal, like someone got hungry in the factory. It was Jethro, I knew. He would have brought his own toast and his kid’s glue stick when he let himself into my house with the key I gave him for emergencies. Jethro’s jokes were the kind that are harmless as long as you don’t already think you’re going mad. So I sent a photo to the local paper, and when they ran the story a week later I clipped it out and posted it to him and waited. It was his wife who rang. She asked why I sent it, and if I’d seen him. He hadn’t been home for a month.