text: Mason Longpore was the sheriff of a small town in Arizona. This town, Ashburn, had only two things to be proud of. First, it had crawled its way up from being a small outposting in Arizona of the same name, and second, it had thus far managed to avoid falling back into its original status, or being absorbed into the much larger city of Emeree where taxes were much higher and morale was consequently much lower. Ashburn held its status, however precariously, with the profits of the local gas station, which happens to reside roughly one tank of gas length from the nearest city. The taxes from the fuel and cigarettes, as well as the fines from heavy footed drivers who are emboldened by a full tank of gas, fresh, hardly stale tobacco, and a long straight road ahead of them, brings in just enough money to pay the necessary fees that come with township, including paying the sheriff. Mason was bored one July morning. Mason was often bored because this July morning was hardly different than the last July morning, or any morning of any month as far as that goes. Mason walked into his office, the strong yellow light from the sun being reflected by the many particles of dust in air. Mason grabbed his mug off his desk and proceeded to fill with hot coffee that was freshly brewed sometime this week. Masons mug was a dull off white ceramic when he bought it years ago as gift to himself for getting the Sheriffs job. It was still dull and off white outside with the exception of the sheriff badge painted on the side, but the inside was now a dark shade of grime. Mason said he like the flavor of this, “seasoned like a cast iron skillet” he’d say, but in reality he simply refused to clean it because he did not like his deputy constantly pointing out to him how dirty it was. Masons deputy, was a tall slender man. He had been an academic in a previous life, studied psychology and pre-historical sociology, but then he moved to Ashburn for a girl, promptly lost the girl, and, after deciding he did not want a job at the gas station, applied to be a sheriffs deputy. Devoid of competition, he got the job. His God given name was Richard Maple but Mason always called him “Sticky Dick! Good morning to you!” exclaimed Mason as he settled into his desk chair. Maple walked in and made a B-line for the coffee, haphazardly tossing his bag to his desk, situated catty-corner to Masons desk. “How many times are you going to call me that before it gets old?” pleaded Maple, full attention still on his first cup of blessed caffeine. “When you’re sheriff and I’m retired, dead, or your deputy” retorted Mason, now looking over the days paper. “Did you see the piece about the carnival coming through town?” asked Maple. “Lots of stuff comes through this town, the trick is getting them to stay longer than the length of your average shit” “They’re supposed to be here a week. It’ll be great to get some culture around here” “Yea, the mayor already talked to me, wanted to make sure we could handle the extra people in this one horse town.” Mason said dryly “When did we get a horse?” Maple quipped Mason continued as if he didn’t hear him “A fair that size will basically double our population, and after the fair closes down each night Susies will be the only place to go. We’ll need to make sure the public urination is left to the animals, and make sure none of the animals are released into the public by somebody with too much liquid courage and a key to the tiger cage.” “My Gosh, it’ll be a crime wave” mocked Maple “Been a while since we had one of those” “What was the last one?” “Mrs Henderson’s lawn mower went missing, turned out Mr Henderson just didn’t put it back in the right spot. It was headline news that Sunday” Mason returned to the stacks of paper on his desk. The usual clutter of speeding tickets, shoplifting, and drunken shenanigans. Looking around Mason sighed. Not that long ago he’d been happy with these sorts of cases day in and day out. Keeping the peace in a peaceful little town. Last year Mason had faced a case, the likes of which neither mason nor the town of Ashburn had seen before. A run of the mill knock and talk turned into the worst month of Longpores life. Since then, this, all of this, all these petty crimes just didn’t seem to matter anymore. There was real evil out there and Mason missed chasing it. Frustrated, mason stood up, downed the rest of his coffee and announced “I’m going for a patrol” Walking out the door past a sleepy eyed Richard, pausing only to grab his hat.