(beginning of a story that currently has no middle or end...)
She was sure the bag had moved.
She turned left without signaling at the second stoplight, then left again.
Two more left turns and she was back where she had come from. Ahead, on the left, she saw the nine bags of refuse. At this distance, they looked like globs of tar tossed into a rough pyramid. She slowed a bit as they resolved into mere garbage bags.
She was sure the bag -- the left one on the second tier down -- had moved...
...but as she drove by, nothing.
Wind, surely. Or the swirl of air from a passing car. Perhaps the trash shifting inside.
But...
Left, left, left, left.
Park.
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