I’ve enjoyed creative writing from an early age. In grade school, I remember turning in ten-pages for those “complete the story” tasks. Then there were the “use each of this week’s spelling words in a sentence” assignments, which I relished, usually seizing the opportunity to zing my classmates in the sentences. That kind of thing began backfiring after a while, as I found myself forced to read them in front of the class and having fewer and fewer friends. I now find myself a happily married middle-aged man. They say I’m middle-aged, at least. I’d be more comfortable with that label if I happened to know a few more 100-year old people. When I’m not writing, I prefer to be sitting in my kayak fly-fishing the local bays or sitting on a barstool tasting new craft beers. I hoped you like my story. I had a lot of fun writing it. To be honest, the characters became self-aware at some point, reducing me to the role of an observer. I was really just watching them and reporting what they did after that. So if you didn’t like it, I’m sorry—but it’s not really my fault. Blame them. Tulros.