Jolly Good, My Dear Jimothy-Kun
A wonderous morning opposes me, and behind myself lies a locked box. But when did it get there? Not the morning sky of course; the box. Labelled to, of all the people, the same person I am to see today.
The handwriting is curious, yet not at all can I make out who wrote it. A bit worried now that someone perhaps broke in. Could have happened last night now that I think about it. Ah, I should quit stressing over it. Nothing I can do. Can’t call the police after all…
Freeze, my good sir. No, I resist arrest for I am in no need of it. Sleep that is, not arrest: a rest. Rather different—by a letter and a space, but still rather different I would say.
And imagine being arrested for a bit of rest. Seems like rather a harsh sentence to me.
I take in the fresh air and shield my eyes from the sun.