Wandering the streets

‘This is your fault!’

‘My fault?  What did I do?’

‘Mrs Jenkins, there’s no point ...’ the policeman interjected.

‘You left the door unlocked, you irresponsible moron!’ She shouted.

‘I was working. Normally she just sits there and stares at the bloody TV.’

‘Mrs Jenkins, if we could just ...’

‘And now she’s wandering the streets!  Eighty three years old and as batty as a belfry!’

‘Are you okay, dear?’ An old lady asked, entering the house, a golden retriever in tow.

‘Mother!  Thank god.  Where have ... Whose dog is that?’

‘My next case, I believe,’ the policeman muttered.



A drabble is a story of exactly 100 words.