Dear Planet Earth,
They came to my cell today.Â The homies (trademark pending) marched in dragging a bloodyÂ Mr. Ozawa by the shoulders. I said his name, trying to mask any sense of shock or relief I felt. My elderly Japanese friend gave a small grunt as he fell to the floor and attempted to roll on his side.
I took careful note of my jailers. There were three of them, all middle-aged, if not older. They wore the same dirty, unassuming clothing youâ€™d see any homeless person wearing on the street. They smelled almost as badly as myself (though I may be biased). The biggest of them had a large, gruesome scab on the left side of his face. He took a couple steps toward me and smiled.
â€œWe have a little bet going on here,â€ he said. â€œWeâ€™re trying to find out if Carl here is completely full of shit or just partly full of shit.â€
He stepped on Mr. Ozawaâ€™s hand as I contemplated how Japanese the name â€œCarlâ€ really is. He winced in pain and the big homie continued.
â€œAccording to him, you people saw him making off with your weapons and fellow upworlders, and thatâ€™s what made him flee in a â€˜dignifiedâ€™ manner.â€ He put more weight on Mr. Ozawaâ€™s hand, who gave another short shriek. â€œThen you ambushed him outside our camp here, effectivelyÂ destroying the truck and itâ€™s primitive supplies.â€
I interpreted all of this as quickly and clearly as I could. I sat agape as the entire room of enemies awaited my next response.
â€œHe. . .Â He kidnapped them?â€
Mr. Ozawa started to cough out plea after plea, alleging his unshakable devotion to â€œthe cause,â€ decrying the â€œunscrupulous liesâ€ of upworlders like me â€” all in perfect English.
The big homie smiled wide enough to reveal his many brown and missing teeth. He turned to his companions and said, â€œLooks like you owe me a Coke.â€
He took out a large pistol covered with thin pipes and promptly blew off Carl Ozawaâ€™s traitorous head.
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