Picture this horrific scenario if you will, darling readers. My dear, darling, quite human readers.
You’re sitting at the bus stop at Nassau and Palmer.
That’s right—you live in New Jersey.
You’re just off another eight hour shift at a payment technology company and Ted’s called out ill. Again. You’ll be right back here in six and a half more hours for another all-nighter.
You rub dryness from your eyes and, for a moment you are elsewhere. Elsewhen. Warm sunlight dries out the permanent drizzle of New Jersey. The dry grit of sand wipes weariness from the pads of your feet. A neon abomination of liquor adorns your fingers and your long term ex beckons you out to the rolling waves.
Last summer. What a dream of a time. You’d do anything to get that back. Anything.
You’re sent crashing back into your sordid and soggy reality by a rustling in the minute accent bushes behind you. Startled, you peer into the shaded branches labyrinth to find nothing—possibly some local rodent in a fight over the last morsel.
Your bus finally approaches, grumbling its way along Nassau. You reach for your bus pass, but its gone. Instead, a note—crumpled, aged, and absolutely filthy. Unfolding it, the scritch-scratch scrawlings of a mad man unveil themselves to you.
“VERY REAL DEALS! From Mr. Trueman—An Actual Human!“
Oh my god—the worst horror of all! It’s the marsupials. They’ve discovered mercantilism!
PDF Download: Very Real Deals! From Mr. Trueman—An Actual Human
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