Iron Coffins

The lady chose a new route this morning, muttering something about curtains pushed back and the same lawn twice a day.  They walked past the corner store, crossed the street and up a block with entirely new smells.

The corner had a lot of dogness about it, and so many plants that there was constantly something in bloom.  Betty particularly liked the smells of this area.  But they walked on and the lawns were pretty well the same as the old route.  They crossed a street and walked down another new block with fewer houses on it.  There were a lot more smells here, and this took more investigating.

In one edge of grass, near a driveway, was a very tasty smelling pile of what must have been pizza, chewed and spewed.  An empty beer can and a box were littered nearby in the parking lot that boasted maybe eight motorcycles.  A little square building with no windows sat there quiet as if holding its head in the noisy dawn.  On the front of the building, in black iron lettering, the words "Iron Coffins" spelled very clearly who owned the place.