A Cheeky Encounter

Jimmy’s car wobbled over the brick pavement, swerving to avoid potholes. He quickly flicked off the camera. The man he was eyeing from down the street had done it. He was standing proudly in his front lawn, shirt off, belly hanging. Goddammit.

Jimmy pulled the car over next to the shirtless beast.

“Hey! You know I’m just gonna have to do this whole street over. There’s no way Google’s gonna let this go up. Just sayin.”

“This is my tanning time! What? A man can’t stand bare belly on his front porch anymore?” the man replied with a repulsive grin. Sweat was gleaming on his exposed belly, which was astonishing seeing as he had been outside all of twenty seconds.

“It just seems very convenient that you would come out and take your shirt off right as I’m coming around the corner. So what, that’s just a coincidence?”

“You got it, boss. Just a big ol’ coincidence.”

“So when I come back to do this road again in 20 minutes, you’re not gonna come out, is that what you’re saying?”

“What I’m sayin is that it’s none of your fuckin business what I do in my front lawn. I ain’t breaking the law.”

Jimmy gritted his teeth. He wasn’t breaking the law. That’s what was so God damn annoying. Jimmy had seen a surge in people doing whacky stuff as he drove by. Maybe there was some new Internet challenge people were smitten by. Maybe it was for 15 minutes of fame. Maybe people were just assholes. Jimmy subscribed to the latter.

“Nope, you’re not breaking the law. It just makes my job a helluvalot harder.”

“Sounds like a you problem. Let me know if you got a me problem.”

Jimmy rolled his window up. Asshole. He flicked the camera back on and kept driving, looking through his review mirror. The man’s gaze followed him down to the end of the street, that same repulsive grin still plastered on his face. He hooked a right onto Madison St. and flipped on the radio. The crash of Dave Grohl going crazy on the drums filled his car.

The job was wildly tedious. He resented the policy Google had insisted on. The drivers must retake pictures that contained images inappropriate for their platform. The caveat was that the pictures didn’t have to be taken by the street camera. If a picture was obtained in some other way, say by cell phone, then the magicians at Google could work their photo-shop magic and, voila, problem solved.

Jimmy bounced with the car as it scuttled along Madison St., and he threw it into park at the end of the road. He got out of the car and stretched out his legs. A woman across the street pushing a baby carriage gave him a neighborly wave. Jimmy smiled and waved back.

He could see the house of the fat man. His view was too far away for a suitable picture, but if he got closer... 

Two houses blocked his view, both backyards protected by a chain-link fence. He would have to climb both, discreetly take a picture, and he would be home free. Under normal circumstances, Jimmy never would have gone about trespassing in the name of his job. Hell, he hated his job, why would he put himself at risk for it? But this was personal. He needed a picture of that guy's house and by God, he was going to get it.

He looked left, right, and left again, scanning the street for any wandering eyes that may identify his somewhat creepy actions. Not a soul in sight. Jimmy craned his neck forwards in a kind of semi-squat that made him look like an old man with back problems. He walked briskly and hopped the first fence with ease. He walked towards the second fence and hopped this one with a little more effort, nearly falling over on his side as he got to the ground.

When he landed he was greeted with the site of a well-kept lawn, dotted with pockets of dog shit. Jimmy stepped over an impressive pile, stalking the man’s house. He could see it perfectly. The man was sitting near his window, peering out every now and then, probably to see if Jimmy was pulling the car back around.

“Gotcha you fat bastard.”

Jimmy took out his phone when his blood froze. He heard a screen door open, and the unmistakable jingle of a dog collar. Then he heard barking.

“Hey, hey! What the hell are you doing in my yard?” a loud voice inquired.

Jimmy had no time to answer; a rabid looking German shepherd was hot on his tail. He sprinted for the fence and tried to jump over it in one motion. He snagged on the top of the fence. The dog was bearing down on him, teeth snapping, barks, and howls escaping in between breaths. He eventually shifted his weight as far as he could and managed to tip his center of gravity over the fence. His upper body fell, but his leg remained caught on the top of the fence. The beast jumped up and bit his shoe, managing to rip it off. Jimmy fell the rest of the way to the ground, turned, and sprinted for his car.

Jimmy ran, vaulting the first fence, looking back to see the dog had jumped the fence and was bounding towards him. He turned and stumbled towards his car. Please God oh please oh Jesus. He grabbed at the handle of the car and found it locked. He fished the keys out of his pocket, looking up just in time to see the dog clearing the first fence and gaining on him. He hit unlock and got in, nearly slamming the door on his foot. Just in time. The dog jumped up on the window, howling, barking, and even licking the window.

Jimmy let out a huge sigh and started laughing. He looked down at his phone. Staring back at him was a picture of the man’s house, no shirtless man, no blur or wobble, just a 5-star Google Maps quality picture. He smiled and put his keys in the ignition. He looked at the display screen. A man looking back at a dog chasing him was on the screen, the back of his pants ripped right down the center, exposing every inch of his ass, a shoe missing from his foot.

Jimmy closed his eyes and giggled madly. Oh boy, I’m gonna have to email someone saying sorry about my ass pic. Ass pic! He burst into another string of laughter, uploading the new picture of the man's house. He turned the key. The engine roared to life. His uncovered foot pressed into the accelerator, and he drove off, still chuckling to himself.