The story of getting rid of my journals

It was a covert mission (not really).

One bright, late spring day a small, blonde woman was driving into the foothills, toward the canyons. She pulled onto a rutted, gravel dirt road in deep contemplation.  She had the demeanor of one on a mission, yet exuded calm. The woman wound her way into what appeared to be a compound, pulling up to a derelict shack where, in very few words, she received instructions and nodded in agreement. This was serious business!

At the assigned location she backed her vehicle into the cage and got out, scanning the area for witnesses. The woman placed her hand on her heart. (Was she scared and going to pass out? Was it too much for her?)  She reached into her vehicle, pulled out a strange, bright pink floral bag, and with a huge sigh of relief, released it into the void. Then turned to do it again.

After accomplishing what she came to do she returned to her vehicle and slowly wound her way back out of the canyon. As she drove away, dust billowing in the breeze, we could hear strains of G&R belti…