The Meth Miscreants

I pulled into the parking lot of the beach wayside and looked for the spires of the driftwood fort nestled in the dunes. I’d built it a couple of months ago, had kept adding and shoring since then, and left behind a message box that hadn’t produced a single interesting thought.

The spires were gone. That surprised me. I had seen them from the road only two days ago. There had been no storms or super high tides to topple the fort.

It was a glorious sunny morning and I took the trail to the fort and found it destroyed and the message tin box gone. All manner of deep truck tire tracks surrounded the remains of the fort. It had been attacked and ravaged!

The Mad Max meth crew! I’d observed them here multiple times doing all sorts of inexplicable things.

I wasn’t mad, actually more amused and mystified. Who are these people?

I rebuilt the fort in a corral style and dug out some cleverly disguised tank traps nearby. They would easily ensnare a meth truck joyriding in the dunes.