Facism's Courier

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Dear Reader,

It was a day like today that I got a letter from the Fascists. A day full of rain, bits of sun and sky at times like the reflection of a spring lake through the clouds, then hard rain. That day, just like today, the air seemed to collect on my skin until a layer built up so thick that it, my skin, could no longer breathe.

The Facsist's Courier, whose name was Ted, strong armed me with a letter, a very long letter full of absolutes and polemic rants about their need for me to take Ted's position as their new courier. There was something in the letter about my courier capabilities, even though I'd only been a courier for a short while during my years in the Army over in Germany. I got fired as a courier because I didn't deliver the right report at the right time to the right place. Hell, I didn't deliver the report at all; I brought it back to a very miffed company clerk, who never again asked me to be the fill-in courier.

"Why would the fascist's want me to be their courier?" I asked Ted.

He smiled a half-smile and then tried to shoot me in the heart. Luckily, he wasn't hired for his aim and I had the chance to get away.

Maybe that's why they wanted me as their courier; I was always a pretty good shooter or good at getting away.

Either way, that's about it for now.

Danke dir,

Frank Sauce

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