Sometimes I long for the good old days, like the ones between the years 2033 through 2039. The crowd gathered outside my house and chanted, “The bees are dead! You killed all the bees!” And they repeated that until one guy got stung, and then they apologized and left my yard.

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The key to hiding is to go where nobody will think to look for you, which is why I exist in the future, where I can be all alone, even though everybody else is there. Well, except Don. He’s not in the future, because obviously he has died. Shouldn’t come as too much of a surprise.

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