A room, probably a lot like your room, sans the ironic Che Guevara poster on the wall and Jugs magazine stashed under the bed.

A masked man walks in. He picks up the camcorder that’s recording all of this nonsense.

“Hello.” He says softly. His mask is bright lime green with a simple aquatic design on the front.

“I am coming.”

He looks off momentarily, pondering whatever men in bright lime green masks ponder, before focusing back on us.

“And I don’t like peppers either.”

A warning. Like, you know, a serious one.

“When I get to Chicago, I’m going to rid the city of la pimienta."

He withdraws a crudely drawn picture of a habanero. So bad that my bastard son could have drawn it.

“See you soon."

He walks off, leaving the camera on and a ton of questions left to be answered. Like who will mow my lawn. Seriously, it’s getting ridiculous out there.

fin.