Dear Wigleaf,

In my attempts to start this I have wasted a handful of postcards, and they weren't easy to come by. I don't know where to begin. How do you explain to someone that you have woken up in a different century? Sure, I could tell you about all the technological advances, or who wins the Super Bowls and Presidencies between 2011 and now. But you could just as easily say I was making it up. What proof do I have, after all? You wouldn't know until years later as things unfolded that I was telling the truth and I don't have that kind of time.

2156 has its perks I guess, but I am out of my element. My bones ache for the twenty-first century. My skin is fading. I fear expiration is at hand if I don't find a way back. Please tell           I think of her every day. I will find my way back to you all. I will. But should I fail, stay indoors on December 14, 2029.

Yours,

Ryan





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Read RWB's "The Pit Bull's Tooth."

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