|Espresso as "Mr. Spressos"|
Good Evening, Everybun!
Mr. Spressos sat at one end of the bench and Agent Hoomin slouched at the other.
“It’s only six feet if you stretch time and space, Agent Hoomin,” said Mr. Spressos without as much as glancing at the hoomin.
“So what do you know about “it”?” Mr. Hoomin asked impatiently.
“What “it”, Mr. Hoomin? The hurricane with no wind? The flood with no water? The Arctic without ice? Nothing that would help you, Mr. Hoomin,” said Mr. Spressos.
The hoomin watched the steam rise straight up from Mr. Spressos’ breath. After a long silence Mr. Spressos turned slightly toward the hoomin. “Don’t believe the things you hear about the wreckage from The Disapprovers. As a dark matter of fact, that was completely contained,” said Mr. Spressos with reproach and added, “Mistakes were made and the offenders perished; that was unavoidable, a small price to pay for certain insights.”
The hoomin sat up straight and shrieked, “What things?”
“Ahhhh, Mr. Hoomin, you keep trying to get closer. Well, we better get back to this “social distancing” stuff, don’t you agree?” smirked Mr. Espressos as he got up, pulled his overcoat tighter, and slowly hopped off into the cold of night.
Good luck and good night,
The pot boils and the plot thickens ...
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