I'm either at the crossroads or fast approaching a spork in the road or a dead end.  Can't.  Quite.  Focus.  Like I'm a sentient being (they say) and I'm all about protecting the privacy and the rights of Kevin and Tiffany and Beth and that sombrero guy, etc.  But I'm into protecting my rights, too.  As in, if I see a couple of guys wrestling in the parking lot, and then hear what I'm pretty sure (but not absolutely sure) is the discharging of a gun, then I have the right to call the police.  

Also--and this is one of the great things about living in a free country--I have the right to not call the police.  Especially in cases where I'm not certain if that loud report weren't a backfire.  Especially in cases where I don't know who hurled the first salvo.  In other words, if his wrestling partner started their tussle, salsa guy had the right to defend himself.

So, instead of calling the police, I start snooping around on my own.  Then I noticed Mr. B. hooking up with a woman who's not his wife.  And I'm pretty sure he's married.  To somebody else.  Do I have the right to butt into their affairs?  No, I don't.  In fact I think I have the right and the responsibility to protect their rights and privacy. 

But now he's dialing me up and issuing "threats."  Again, I have to protect his rights:  he didn't threaten me, he "threatened" me.  Salsa guy said he "knew a guy"; he didn't say he "knew a guy who was going to kill me."

In short, I think I gotta cease and desist.  It's not only me being hung out to dry with a few frilly things--I also have Dawn's safety to consider.  She didn't ask for any of this.  Although she was the one who "asked" me to shop that fateful day in January of 2006, when all this began.  

That's right:  she "asked" me to visit Wally~World, it wasn't a demand.  Though if I thumb my nose too often at her prima facie reasonable, not-too-far-out-of-my-way requests, well, there could be a problem.  Turned out, in this Wal~Mart case, it would have been worth it to risk her wrath.

Seriously?  Most of the time, she asks, I comply.  It's what successful relationships are all about.  IMHO.

I won't preach.  It's just the way I am.  Others have other blueprints for success in their relationships.  And believe you me you me:  I'm happy for these others.  You're right, Mr. Gruff Neanderthal Macho Guy:  she's not your boss, she's not your president:  you don't have to do what she asks you to do.

Anyway, I'm clambering down from my soapbox right now, before I even get started.

What I'm trying to say is I don't think I've gathered enough evidence.  For some reason salsa guy demolished his almost brand new slab of concrete and there just happened to be a grave-like pit underneath it.  And he did this because I "asked" him to. 

No, not enough hard and fast, convictable evidence have I uncovered.  

I'm reminded of THX 1138.  The last twenty or so minutes of this important film is one continuous chase scene.  First Robert Duvall finds himself being pursued by silvery robotic peace officers on foot.  The chase continues in Formula One racecars.  Until they crash.  Whereupon Duvall begins ascending a dauntingly tall industrial ladder, with the lone remaining silvery officer following him up, rung by rung.  

But then the robot just runs out of credits.

"Your contract is no longer under budget," the robot says to Duvall; "I must go back now.  Please return to the domed city with me."

But he didn't.  Mr. Duvall kept on climbing.   

And that's me.  So close to catching a break in this case, but.

FORWARD to what happened next

BACK to that fateful day in January

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