|Espresso, "Hoomin, did you think about sticking to salaaaaads?"|
|Espresso and Mr. Espressos having a good day.|
Good Evening, Everyone!
Finally, Agent Hoomin succumbed to the dreams and nightmares of conversations with Mr. Spressos. He didn’t have to go and visit Mr. Spressos in the park, in the dead of night anymore. Like bouts of fever, fragments of encounters with Mr. Spressos plagued his imagination.
There were bits about Spressos catching hippies or something.
“Oh, Mr. Hoomin, but we don’t need the entire hippie. We only need the soul. You see, we’ve been trying to extract the antibodies for greed and corruption, fear and hatred, resignation and despair.”
At first, the hoomin thought this was to make a vaccine for those maladies. In the next moment, he knew it was none of that. They wanted to know how the antibodies work to better defeat the sorry souls. As he sat facing Mr. Spressos in the bowels of a black helicopter, he thought something in one of the cargo nets moved. The chopper began to shake and scream violently as if the motor was coming undone. The hoomin felt frozen.
Suddenly, Agent Hoomin sat up awake, drenched with cold sweat. Somewhere near, a garbage truck was swallowing a load of trash and lurching on. The hoomin had overslept again.
Good night and good luck,
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