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The Home Depot: a man’s dream, the place where a man can be a kid. It always puts a
good feeling in my soul when I walk through those automated, sliding front doors. The
smell of fresh lumber, the smile on everyone’s face—I don’t think there was ever a better
place on earth.
I waved to a lady at the customer service desk as I stepped inside the gigantic hardware
store. Her smile was kind and honest enough. Her orange apron and graying hair rustled
in the wind as the doors slid closed behind me. I took another step and paused. Where
would I go first? I wanted some lumber and light bulbs to be sure, but there was so much
more
to see. For now, I decided to check out lawn mowers.
Unbeknownst to me, or anyone in the store for that matter, a group of very bad men driving
very big semi trucks were looking for a place to ditch their very dangerous cargo. When
and why they chose the Home Depot I will never know. Unfortunately they did and I would soon
find out—the hard way—what was in those semi trucks.