 Yawn. I am undoing my Pink Floyd tie and walking into my apartment building's breezeway. Shuffle, shuffle. I almost am too tired to look up. It's 11:30pm, and despite the poor lighting I assume I'm alone.
But I look. Before me is a marvel of the wild. A spectacle that only 30 years prior wouldn't have warranted a series of photos (I'm not sure it does now). A racoon clearly trying to get the hell away from me scuttled up the brick wall of the breezeway.
So, for those of you who find yourselves at Fleetwood Village late in the evening, take heed: There may be wild animals afoot.
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