This is an off-site work written 11/10, which has nothing to do with current Beyond The Mat OCs. We continue watching the spiral...Reviews welcome.

I got into my 1998 Ford F-150 and headed back for the long ride to the New Hope Plantation trailer park, in Brunswick, GA.

When I got home, I probably should've expected what I found, but was still surprised...

"Aw, shit! NO, you've gotta be kidding me!" I cried...

Cops don't come here to take reports when there've been break ins. Why? Because living here, your place will be broke into at least once. Normally, it's your neighbors who do it. See, money's short here. We do what we need to do. It's not like we've really got much of value, and the only thing they got from me was some gold plate jewelry. I didn't much mind since I couldn't wear it...it turned my finger and neck green, but the point was, I knew "who done it" since Jacob and Caleb, brothers from next door, came on over to "make sure" I "was alright."

See, every time Caleb and Jacob knock on your door, it ain't for good reason. Either one's going to distract you while the other rifles through your purse, or somebody's gonna hit on you. My purse was under the seat in the truck and the truck was locked, so they couldn't get at that for now, and ain't either tried to feel me up. It was "Amanda Darlene Morgan", (my current alias. My real name's Trinity Rose Abernathy), "you gonna be alright? We didn't see nothing. Vandals busted in and got your jewelry."

I played dumb now, since I knew for sure now it was these two who broke in...how would they know what got taken if I didn't say?

I guess it was fair, though, since I broke into their place 3 months ago and took their dead grandaddy's money clip. Of course I denied doing it, same as they'd deny it if I asked them now if they'd done this to me. I was the first one at their place to see if they were ok. I guess it's true that a criminal always returns to the scene of the crime? Anyway, I pawned that money clip for $20, and the "gold" jewelry they got from me tonight wouldn't even fetch them $2, so at least I was still ahead.

I turned on some crocodile tears about how that jewelry belonged to my beloved Aunt Magnolia Jean (I don't have an Aunt Magnolia Jean, but I was convincing that I did) and that "the world's an awful place these days. I need to drive and go clear my head," I said, giving them a clue to leave and a way for me to get in the truck for a bit and then get my purse out safely. If I went and just got it and went back in, they'd play the distracting/rifling game and rip me off even more. I wasn't going to allow it.

So I went for a ride a bit. I almost, almost texted Big O about the burglary, but if I did, he'd probably figure out where exactly I'm living at. Not only would that destroy the life I've so carefully fabricated to tell him about, but he'd probably call the local police to help me and learn there was no such person here as Amanda Darlene Morgan. I guessed I wanted a little sympathy from him, for a fleeting moment, even though the burglary meant nothing to me and the fact I've done it to who did it to my trailer tonight was sort of Karma or whatever, but I made sure to not go anywhere near my phone awhile.

Drove around until about 8 am. That's when some of the trailer park starts going to bed, anyways, and I was ready for sleep as well. Last night caught up with me. I was sore and wanted a shower, so I pulled in, drove down the dirt path and parked right on the little stretch of front lawn I've got. I put my head through the strap of my bag and kept it close to my body once I got it situated, then went into the place. I propped a chair up under the doorknob since the lock was demolished, and got in the shower, with my purse hanging on the shower head. Yeah, it might get a little wet, so I had my wallet and cell in a Ziploc bag inside it as waterproofing, and I could shower in peace.

Or so I thought.

It was impossible to prop chairs under the bedroom window.

When I was done showering, I could hear that somebody was in my house. Make that 2 somebodies. Jacob and Caleb both. Damn.

They had to have heard the shower, when they walked on up, and I'm thinking, there's nothing left to steal...and then the realization hit me.

Aw, shit. They came to get me to do a three way. I heard them moving around the place, and my little TV went on. I could hear somebody cheery on the morning program. Kelly Ripa? Didn't know. Didn't care. Just didn't want to be fucking brothers on the futon.

Not that I didn't do it before with them in exchange for a little meth, but I was sore and sleep-deprived right now.

I turned the shower back on after I got out and got my purse down, and got dressed. Mercifully I had foresight to bring clean clothes in with me, and I'd call upon the services of a local friend of mine later on to help me get my clothes out of here, but enough of this trailer park. Fake ID, as always, was ready in my purse, and I had $30 in cash in it. (I'd later find out when I looked in the little pocket in my purse that "Big O" stuffed a couple of hundred dollar bills in there, which would be a huge help...but right now they were soaking wet since they weren't in the Ziploc)

Out the bathroom window I climbed, got my keys to the truck out, and pulled out. I didn't even bother looking in the rear view mirror at this shithole I'd called "home" for far too long.

But it isn't like $30 (or the $200 I'd discover later) would get me real far. I drove about an hour. I was on fumes in the gas tank and would have to stop soon anyway.

I ended up pulling into a, of all places, Self Storage facility.

Shut the truck off, hopped out and asked sweetly, "What specials are you runnin' this month?"

Now I was being all shy, looking at my shoes a lot. Ended up busting out with a story about my husband beating me and I wanted to store some of my stuff while I looked for a place. The old man behind the desk took pity on me...you might've, too, seeing an innocent-looking woman with slicked back wet hair and scrubbed free of makeup, obviously in some sort of distress, looking for your help...

The special had been $29.99 but he gave it to me for half, and upgraded to the large-size unit.

Guess where I'd be sleeping for the next month? Hey, the self-storage units are climate controlled. The trailer, with the cold weather, was like a refrigerator. Which would you choose? For a bathroom, there was a gas station down the street, and if I really sucked up to (or sucked off) the old man at the desk, maybe I could get a part time, cash job here doing work at the desk for a few hours here and there.

For now, I was getting some sleep. Then, when I woke, I'd call Bobby Ray (a former midcard wrestler who now lived on Social Security for winning the disability award due to his bipolar, and supplemented that with selling a little weed and appearing at some indy shows. We used to fuck but I never sought to land him permanently, I just wanted to fuck him, and we became friends. He was still huge and intimidating looking, (sort of like the old-timer Big John Studd) and was always up to helping me when I needed it. We'd go get my clothes and makeup and I'd throw the keys to the trailer in the management office. Gone were the days I'd have to worry about bills in the mail. I would have to get a P.O. Box to continue the food stamps, but the rest of the mail would end up "Addressee Unknown."

Oh, and my name now, for the Self-Storage unit, was Sherri Mae Vachon. Figured I'd pay homage to Ms. Martel, Ms. Young and Luna, all in 1 shot.