Saint Merle of the Desert

Saint Merle of the Desert

 

“What they’re saying is, is that they have no leads.”

“Who is they?”

“The cops.  In New Mexico.”

“Okay.”

“They have nothing to go off of.  The last I heard, they were talking to investigators and psych people.”

“Right.  To analyze him.  To draw conclusions.  That figures.”

“So, anyways, for right now, it’s all a matter of figuring out why he might have done this and where he disappeared to.”

“Aw, that’s just a lot of nonsense.  Why else would someone park a U-Haul on the side of the 81 highway, pull out all his creature comforts �" his coffee machine, his stereo, his two-thousand dollar big screen, tableware, silverware, kitchen stuff, his suits, his shoes, iPhone and iPad, his laptop, all the family photos �" and dump them on the highway, then strip down to nothing, toss what he had on into some improvised bonfire, then walk bare-assed out into the open desert, looking for a hole to live in like some kind of hermit?”

“Yeah, well, we know the answer to that.”

“What I want to know is why this didn’t happen sooner.”