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Call me Grimace.
Friday, February 27, 2004
Grips the Fantastic arrived two days ago. Ahead of schedule, as I see it. He dropped in around 9:00, as I was sitting down to eat a plate of fried rice. Normally running into Grips would be a joyous occasion. Normally, he’d rush in the door and kick over a lamp, or maybe open the fridge and kick a six pack. Normally he’d be laughing maniacally for an hour or so before he could calm himself long enough to say hello. Normally, anyway.
Instead, I met an almost childishly frightened Grips at my door. Looking back over his should as I greeted him, he scurried into my home, slamming and locking the door behind him. He must have caught the scent of my fried rice. He slipped past me and ran to the kitchen where he devoured my dinner like he hadn’t eaten for days.
He opened large a duffle bag he’d dragged in with him and produced a data stick (this is a popular storage device used in the future. It looks almost exactly like a tiny tree branch. It smells like steaming cabbage). Grips handed me the stick and, without saying a word, stumbled over to my couch and passed out.
He’s been asleep there ever since. I don’t have any way of reading what’s on the data stick, so that’s been a problem. I rummaged through his bag, looking for clues (or maybe a stick reader, which is itself a slightly larger stick) but found nothing but dirty clothes, a baseball, and a rock with a picture of a cat etched onto it. Maybe I’m wrong, but I think something bad has happened in the future, or will happen here.. in the future… I’ll learn what I can when Grips wakes up.
Instead, I met an almost childishly frightened Grips at my door. Looking back over his should as I greeted him, he scurried into my home, slamming and locking the door behind him. He must have caught the scent of my fried rice. He slipped past me and ran to the kitchen where he devoured my dinner like he hadn’t eaten for days.
He opened large a duffle bag he’d dragged in with him and produced a data stick (this is a popular storage device used in the future. It looks almost exactly like a tiny tree branch. It smells like steaming cabbage). Grips handed me the stick and, without saying a word, stumbled over to my couch and passed out.
He’s been asleep there ever since. I don’t have any way of reading what’s on the data stick, so that’s been a problem. I rummaged through his bag, looking for clues (or maybe a stick reader, which is itself a slightly larger stick) but found nothing but dirty clothes, a baseball, and a rock with a picture of a cat etched onto it. Maybe I’m wrong, but I think something bad has happened in the future, or will happen here.. in the future… I’ll learn what I can when Grips wakes up.
