Key "Chain"(John Filkins) Bobby took his time walking to work. It was a beautiful day and he wanted to fully experience it. He had nearly forty-five minutes to get there and it was barely a fifteen minute walk. He slowly made his way closer to the eight to ten hours he would spend taking care of other people's money for the pitiful salary he was making at his new job. He saw a few pretty girls, a bunch of harried Wall Street guys, and a whole host of 'Average Joes' as he walked. When there was only a block left to go, he sat on a bench and continued watching the flow of human flesh making their way to their 'next thing'. A woman in a tight, white dress caught his eye, so he didn't notice who dropped their key chain onto the sidewalk. When the beauty finally wiggled out of his view, Bobby looked down and saw the bauble laying there. He debated whether it was encrusted with real jewels or if it was just a cheap piece of crap someone bought at a drugstore. Everyone just walked by it, as the pace of the pedestrian traffic picked up, because it was almost 9 A.M. Bobby knew he should pick it up and turn it in to the police if it was actually worth something. He couldn't stand it any longer as passerby's walked by without noticing it; and, amazingly, not stepping on it. He broke through the foot traffic and bent over to retrieve the 'pretty' from its precarious position. As he held it in his hand, he couldn't believe what a nice piece it was. It had to have come from one of the higher-end stores located on Rodeo Drive; or somewhere like that. He slipped it into his pocket and told himself that he would turn it in to the police after he got off work.

It was already getting dark, as Daylight Savings Time had commanded the state to 'fall back' one hour the Saturday before. Bobby walked out of the door of his job and stumbled forward onto his knees. His pants were ripped and he thought his leg might be bleeding. He picked up his 'new' key chain, that had fallen on the sidewalk, and twirled it around his finger. It had his car and apartment keys hanging from it now and, apparently, the honest finder of lost items forgot all about turning it in to the police. He decided to leave it to fate. If he saw signs posted looking for a missing, bejeweled key chain he might respond to them; but, otherwise, he just counted his new accoutrement as a lucky find. He limped the distance home and up the steps to his front door. He slipped his newly accessorized key into the lock and turned it.

After coming through the door, he found his live-in girlfriend, Jean, sitting on the couch crying. It seemed that 'Purrrrrcy', the cat, had picked today as his last, and was laying dead in the other room. Bobby found him on the kitchen floor where she said he had breathed his last. He wasn't happy or sad that the cat had expired, since it was brought into the relationship by 'her'. He stared at the gray and white feline corpse for a moment before deciding to see if it would fit into a two gallon Ziploc bag for the trip to his final resting place, circa the trash truck. Jean cried loudly as she walked in on the man she loved trying to shove Mr. Purrrrrcy's stiff tail inside the bag as he zipped it up. "What are you doing you monster!?", came out of her mouth as she rushed over to treat her kitty with the respect he deserved. The problem was, she was never going to touch their dead cat; not even with it resting inside the bag. Bobby began to hand the 'less than beloved' pet to her and it made her cringe away from him and the nasty duty that was obviously a 'man's job'. Bobby was good at killing bugs and pumping gas, so she would forgive him and let the man finish 'lovingly' throwing her cat, of four years, into the garbage.

The big city had rules for such things, and Bobby didn't want to get caught up in any legal hassle for tossing the former pet into their own dumpster. He walked down the street and found another one in an alley behind a different apartment building. He had the forethought to make this a 'double bag' funeral for the wonderful pet who wouldn't be able to sleep on his face, at night, anymore. The Walmart bag disguised the fact that Purrrrrcy's sole pall bearer was about to send him into a better place, where giant 'rat angels' would spread his 'kitty DNA' around the neighborhood via their digestive systems. Bobby approached the dumpster cautiously to avoid the previously mentioned rats. He stepped into a pothole full of water and felt the cold 'alley liquid' fill his shoe. The disgusted money manager then managed to drop the dumpster lid on his fingers after discarding the former, four-legged, feline family member. He winced in pain as he backed away from the aggressive, finger-eating trash receptacle. He walked away, holding his hand and enjoying his wet foot squishing around in his shoe.

The 'bagman' was startled when a loud voice said "FREEZE!". Bobby looked up and saw a cop pointing his weapon at him, while continuing to scream instructions. If he could have seen himself with the knee ripped out of his blood-stained pants, shaking water off his shoe and holding his injured fingers, he might have thought something was up too.

A few minutes later, Bobby was leaning against the wall with handcuffs on his wrists, that the officer thought might keep "both of them safe" until his investigation was concluded. There were other cops there now, who were standing around smoking while Bobby's cop was inside the dumpster looking for 'evidence' of whatever crime the 'perp' had committed. Bobby stood there smugly, thinking they would glance over the dead cat in a plastic bag and he would soon be on his way home to shower off the alley grime. The officer poked his head out of the 'crime scene', and then did something that made the blood run out of Bobby's face. He lifted his hand up and had a hand gun suspended by a pencil that was poked through the trigger guard. "Gotcha", he said as he dropped it into an evidence bag being held open by another cop. Bobby looked at the officer, then at the gun, then at the group of policemen looking at him suspiciously, before saying, "hey, that's not mine. I was just down here dumping a..."; he stopped before saying cat. He couldn't bring himself to tell this group of men in uniform about the 'dick move' he had just made with his sweetheart's cat.

As the squad car made its way to the station, Bobby thought frantically about what to say he was doing in the alley after dark; near a dumpster that had a gun in it. He finally mustered up the courage to admit his fiendish plot to send the kitty to its 'landfill afterlife'. As his lips began to move, his arresting officer exclaimed over his shoulder, "what a night!...some sick piece of crap put a cat in a Ziploc bag and just threw it into the dumpster like so much trash! I'd better never run into that S.O.B...I'll beat 'em senseless. Me and the missus love our kitties". Bobby sat in silence as the cop relayed stories about the little fur ball scamps he and his wife loved like the children they couldn't have, and at how smart, cute and lovable the little creatures could be.

When they arrived at the station, Bobby was put in holding where he was promptly beaten up, after trying to act tough to avoid being beaten up. He had friends who spent time in jail in their younger years. He, now, felt very sorry for them as the last of his new mates spat on the little defensive ball he had turned into; laying on the floor in the middle of the cell.

Two hours later, bumped and bruised, Bobby sat in a chair next to a detective's desk trying to explain why he was in the alley, but, without actually explaining. He had been read his rights and began to think that prison might not be so bad compared to telling the truth. A few minutes later, he was in a room with two detectives telling him the awful things they were going to let the inmates do to him if he didn't confess that it was HIS gun in the dumpster. Bobby had no idea that a young woman had been murdered in the area the night before. It was only after the 'bad cop' pushed his chair over and kicked at him, that the 'good cop' motioned for his partner to join him in the other room while the suspect was left alone to 'sweat it out'.

Four hours later, after his one phone call, Bobby was still sitting in the interrogation room. He hadn't ate or drank anything since lunch, but the worst thing was that he needed to pee. He hoped that his girlfriend would bring an attorney soon and get him out of this 'jam'. Suddenly, he could hear her voice coming from the desk of the Booking Sergeant. "He what!?", he could hear her ask, and then, only caught bits and pieces of the muffled conversation her and her lawyer were having with the detective handling his case. She explained that he was down there disposing of her beloved cat; like it was a bag of last week's leftovers. Bobby could just make out the word 'asshole' and a little bit of laughing as the discussion continued. He was brought back out to the detective's desk and sat there looking over at his girlfriend and her attorney, who was provided by and paid for by her dad...his boss.

The prints on the gun came back; matching it to a known drug dealer and felon. The detective unlocked Bobby's handcuffs and let him rise and approach his savior. She had never looked so good as she did at that moment. He couldn't believe he had recently considered 'dumping' her. When he went to hug his 'lady love', she pulled away, saying, "we are done Bobby...and Daddy says you're fired; or he will after I talk to him". She walked away with her attorney in tow as a dumbstruck Bobby just stood there wondering where he was going to sleep tonight.

After getting his personal items, he walked through the detective gauntlet that had showed up to see him out. The cops looked at him like he was a mass murderer or worse. The man who shoved a dead cat into a Ziploc, and tossed it into a dumpster, would be harassed every time any of them saw him for the rest of his residency in their fair city.

Before Bobby made it out of the precinct, he put his hand in his pocket and pulled out his new key chain. He studied it for a moment before taking his keys off and putting them in his pocket. He dropped the shiny bauble onto the steps outside the building and walked across the street to watch from a bench. It had been quite a day since he picked that thing up and he wondered if it had some kind of 'bad juju' attached to it. He was almost ready to get up and walk away when an overweight officer with lots of stripes on his sleeves walked out and saw the key chain lying there. He turned his head to and fro to see if anyone was looking, bent over, picked it up, and slipped it into his pocket. 'Got me a key chain', he said to himself, since he knew he would never turn it in to 'lost items'.

As Bobby watched the cop walk away with his hand in his pocket, Jean drove up, stopped in the street in front of him and rolled the passenger side window down. She had tears in her eyes and motioned for him to get in the car. As they drove away, she offered him her hand before reminding him what a "complete ass" he had been tonight.

A couple of days later, Bobby sat in his cubicle at the workplace he had grown to appreciate much more; after his rough night at the police station. He called up a popular news site on his computer and clicked on a trending human interest story, that caught his eye, instead of the financial news he was supposed to be checking on. He sat back and winced as he watched a video; 'shot' by a shaky-handed smart phone owner. It had over ten million views in the last 24 hours. It showed a familiar, overweight cop with lots of stripes, slapping a pre-teenage kid he had caught skate boarding on a public sidewalk. He forced himself to not laugh as the next video in the segment showed the now-cursed officer standing in front of his apartment building. He had a large mustard stain on his shirt, a bruise on his face, and bulging veins showing on his forehead, as he yelled sexist obscenities at the young, female reporter trying to interview him.

The newly humbled financial advisor closed his laptop and breathed a sigh of relief as he began to shuffle around the papers on his desk; trying to look busy.

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