November 22, 2019
He arrives on the island in a suit. All black. Pointy shoes, aftershave cologne in his pocket. Briefcase that may have fish living in it. He's been at sea for weeks, months maybe. He forgets. He's OK. He's suspiciously OK, for someone who's been adrift this long. "Magic word," a man walks toward him, pointing a gun of sorts. "Hello?" he answers, the gun is red and looks like plastic. "This can hurt you," the man says, as if reading his mind. "OK, help me," he says, hands raised. "Enter," the gunman says. That's it? That's the 'magic word'? Bye.