The Absence of Blueberries

Do you know where I am? Because I certainly don't. I'm a fencepost. Or at least, I feel like one. You see, this morning I woke up on the side of a remote country road, which certainly is an odd place to wake up, unless that is where you had gone to sleep each night for the last two decades. But this was the first time I had woken up on this particular road, so it was odd. And to make things even odder I found that all I had for company was a box of blueberry muffins. Well the box said they were blueberry, but when I took a bite into one I found that there were no blueberries at all. How deceitful.

The blueberry muffins without the blueberries made a fitting breakfast nonetheless and I decided I should walk north and see if I could call for help from a farmer's house or similar. But after a few hours of walking I spotted a car on the horizon, driving towards me, so I flagged it down. The driver was alone, an elderly chap. I told him what had happened and he said he thought it sounded like I had been drugged and left there. He offered me a ride back into town.
On the way back I was trying to remember what had happened the night before and why anyone would want to dump me, unconscious, on the side of a country road. It may be that someone from the council had tipped off the imposter Fennard Black.

I made it back to Ted's parent's house, and I am packing my bags right now. I think I've figured out where this fake Black lives.