A killer wakes before dawn. He puts his boots on. Those lines of poetry are in his fuzzy brain as the coffee slowly goes into the thermos and the garage door opens to early morning light.
As he turns into Peralta, the man notices the surplus of new homes that have been built out here, eating up the Sonoran desert. Trenches have now been dug along the dirt road to prevent campers from the spending the night.
“It’s one way to try and keep out those one may consider undesirable”.
A fork in the road leads to a new area, Peralta Park. Empty as it’s the middle of summer, so he has the place to himself.
