What it’s like in my head when my head isn’t filled with other things that I probably shouldn’t write about. Not that I should be writing about this, but that’s beside the point.

Me: “Oh, that’s pretty! I should take a picture of that for the socials.”

My Better Judgement: “Don’t post photos of roadkill on Instagram, Jeff.”

Me: “But it’s a rabbit and it’s beau–“

My Better Judgement: “It’s INSIDE OUT and there’s BLOOD EVERYWHERE! Are you just ALLERGIC to marketing?”

Me: “I mean, it’s kind of on-brand for me.”

My Better Judgement: “No one’s ‘brand’ is loops of bunny intestine splattered on the asphalt. Keep walking.”

Me: “What if I just take a photo for myself and not post–“

My Better Judgement: “Dude, that neighbor is STARING AT YOU! You just moved here. Do you really want to be known as ‘the creepy, bearded hobo who takes pictures of roadkill?'”

Me: “Good morning!”

My Better Judgement: “Did you seriously just wave at them over a bunny corpse?”

Me: “I didn’t want to seem anti-social.”

My Better Judgement: *repeated sound of a head hitting a desk*

…a five-second pause…

Me: “I guess taking it home is out of the question.”

My Better Judgement: *PRIMAL SCREAM*

And that’s the story of how I didn’t take roadkill home with me.

Because I’m neighborly.