I was jumped by a group of three men who shouted homophobic slurs at me near their pickup truck outside of The Seal pub in Harwich. Message me if you witnessed the incident or if you have any information.
What is the schedule of Town Meetings for the rest of 2026?
What do you suggest for methods of conservation of Cape Cod’s limited aquifer water supply?
What is your favorite book? Mine is pictured above with the statue Sachem Iyannough in Hyannis.
What is your favorite Haitian restaurant?
Who’s going to Auld Triangle karaoke on Thursday?
What is your favorite weekend karaoke venue?
Give hope with the gift of life at Cape Cod Hospital and associated donation centers.
What Pride events will Arnold’s Lobster and Clam Bar be hosting this summer?
The Star Spangled Banner as you’ve never heard it.
Rhonda had not intended to show anybody the filing cabinet at first. Stowed away in the corner of a forgotten storage room, the effort of clearing away detritus of hoarded knick-knacks and cracking the combination lock which hid stacks of non-descript folders from public view had been a personal challenge. The result of Rhonda’s exploration was a trove of documents sorted alphabetically by addressee’s names with senders ranging from estate law firms to financial institutions and hospitals. Many of the parcels bore a “CONFIDENTIAL” or similar warning, hence Rhonda’s caution toward the prospect of discussing her discovery with other people. A news article detailing a flood in the local courthouse basement that destroyed an indeterminable number of legal records piqued her interest and the storage room spelunker called her uncle Phil, a man with connections to the post office and the local court system.
A roar of motorcycles drowned out the sound of Phil’s truck and Rhonda was surprised by his early arrival. A professional with a busy schedule, Phil nevertheless showed no sign of impatience as he greeted his niece and stepped into the living room. A document peeking out of the corner of a folder from the filing cabinet caught Phil’s attention. The heading read, “Law Offices of Emerson and Watson.” It was a letter addressed to the beneficiary of a financial trust. A jet aircraft screamed overhead.
Phil opened the folder and read the letter quietly. He set it aside and asked Rhonda to point him toward the cabinet, betraying no emotion as he carried the folder into the storage room. Rhonda had not read the vast majority of the cabinet’s contents, reasoning that the “COPY” label affixed to many of the documents indicated that they were redundant backups of originals held by her notoriously secretive family. Her clan valued privacy above all else, particularly within homes built by their own hands. Indeed, Rhonda had inherited her grandparents’ land after meeting them only a handful of times. Most of the names listed on the cabinet’s dividers were unfamiliar to her while others were relatives and family friends.
Rhonda picked up the document that Phil had discarded and noticed her name written in the first paragraph. The indistinguishable smell of a gas leak distracted her and she traced its source to an extinguished pilot light. Phil emerged from the storage room just after Rhonda had relit the flame. “Stay safe,” Phil said quietly as he hurried outside to his truck. The sound of motorcycles had subsided and several people were walking by on the sidewalk. The only neighbors who had ever introduced themselves to Rhonda, a Jewish couple living next door, shut their blinds as a white man shouted something into his phone about keeping what he had. Rhonda was the only person of color in the neighborhood. Passerby averted their gaze from her.
Motorcycles resumed their roar into the early hours of the morning, preventing Rhonda from sleeping soundly. Reflecting upon Phil’s departing words, she checked her security cameras. A 2:31 AM recording, triggered that night by motion sensor, caught her attention. A firefighter had approached her home and walked into her backyard, flashlight in hand. At 2:33 AM the firefighter had walked back to the sidewalk where a group of 8 people had appeared. The group proceeded toward the neighbor’s house. There was no more footage recorded and Rhonda was prevented from viewing the live camera feed by a software error.
Rhonda opened her window blinds. The morning was clear but the streets were empty. Her neighbor’s yard was littered with broken glass. Their storm door and window had been shattered overnight. Pervasive silence was interrupted only by the distant barking of a dog. Rhonda opened her door and immediately encountered a filled can of gasoline on her back porch. She called her uncle. Phil’s response was a busy signal.
Rhonda had not intended to show anybody the filing cabinet at first. Stowed away in the corner of a forgotten storage room, the effort of clearing away detritus of hoarded knick-knacks and cracking the combination lock which hid stacks of non-descript folders from public view had been a personal challenge. The result of Rhonda’s exploration was a trove of documents sorted alphabetically by addressee’s names with senders ranging from estate law firms to financial institutions and hospitals. Many of the parcels bore a “CONFIDENTIAL” or similar warning, hence Rhonda’s caution toward the prospect of discussing her discovery with other people. A news article detailing a flood in the local courthouse basement that destroyed an indeterminable number of legal records piqued her interest and the storage room spelunker called her uncle Phil, a man with connections to the post office and the local court system.
A roar of motorcycles drowned out the sound of Phil’s truck and Rhonda was surprised by his early arrival. A professional with a busy schedule, Phil nevertheless showed no sign of impatience as he greeted his niece and stepped into the living room. A document peeking out of the corner of a folder from the filing cabinet caught Phil’s attention. The heading read, “Law Offices of Emerson and Watson.” It was a letter addressed to the beneficiary of a financial trust. A jet aircraft screamed overhead.
Phil opened the folder and read the letter quietly. He set it aside and asked Rhonda to point him toward the cabinet, betraying no emotion as he carried the folder into the storage room. Rhonda had not read the vast majority of the cabinet’s contents, reasoning that the “COPY” label affixed to many of the documents indicated that they were redundant backups of originals held by her notoriously secretive family. Her clan valued privacy above all else, particularly within homes built by their own hands. Indeed, Rhonda had inherited her grandparents’ land after meeting them only a handful of times. Most of the names listed on the cabinet’s dividers were unfamiliar to her while others were relatives and family friends.
Rhonda picked up the document that Phil had discarded and noticed her name written in the first paragraph. The indistinguishable smell of a gas leak distracted her and she traced its source to an extinguished pilot light. Phil emerged from the storage room just after Rhonda had relit the flame. “Stay safe,” Phil said quietly as he hurried outside to his truck. The sound of motorcycles had subsided and several people were walking by on the sidewalk. The only neighbors who had ever introduced themselves to Rhonda, a Jewish couple living next door, shut their blinds as a white man shouted something into his phone about keeping what he had. Rhonda was the only person of color in the neighborhood. Passerby averted their gaze from her.
Motorcycles resumed their roar into the early hours of the morning, preventing Rhonda from sleeping soundly. Reflecting upon Phil’s departing words, she checked her security cameras. A 2:31 AM recording, triggered that night by motion sensor, caught her attention. A firefighter had approached her home and walked into her backyard, flashlight in hand. At 2:33 AM the firefighter had walked back to the sidewalk where a group of 8 people had appeared. The group proceeded toward the neighbor’s house. There was no more footage recorded and Rhonda was prevented from viewing the live camera feed by a software error.
Rhonda opened her window blinds. The morning was clear but the streets were empty. Her neighbor’s yard was littered with broken glass. Their storm door and window had been shattered overnight. Pervasive silence was interrupted only by the distant barking of a dog. Rhonda opened her door and immediately encountered a filled can of gasoline on her back porch. She called her uncle. Phil’s response was a busy signal.