The man did not know how he came to be in a cornfield. But there he was. It was nighttime, and the man couldn't see very well. The glowing pallor of the distant city's faint, humming lights washing hazy over the southern horizon helped him navigate around the soldier-like rows of corn. The city scared the man. He didn't know why exactly, but he felt it best to walk north, toward the peace and melancholy of that black sea. The cornfield wasn't too cold. It wasn't uncomfortable, either. It would do well enough, he thought, to just walk around in it for a while.
But the serene stroll was cut short. Just as the man's mind meandered to pleasanter places, a bad feeling caught him across the jaw. I'm being followed, he thought. The Russians are after me. The man started to run in diagonals, cutting through rows every so often to correct his direction. The man ran into a clearing. The Russians were waiting for him there with a space ship.
The man knew there was no escaping from the Russians, especially if they had a space ship - and they did - so he climbed on board with them. Better to cooperate at this point, he thought. He was being held in a part of the ship that was a bit like the back of an enlarged ambulance, but without the gurney or sharp tools. The man sat on a bench next to two or three Russians, and across from him sat a handful more. The man thought that the Russians weren't as bad as he thought they would be. Even though they hadn't spoken a word, their quiet was not a cold quiet. They were just bored, perhaps, or hungry.
The man could feel that they were slowing down. They had been traveling for maybe fifteen or twenty minutes. It was hard to say how far they had gone. The man had no windows to see the outside whirling by. Probably for the better, he mused, because I get motion sickness in space ships. From the front of the craft, the man heard some murmuring and what sounded like an electronic voice.
One of the Russians sitting across from the man leaned forward and said, with a heavy accent, What you want to order? The man had been pretty hungry, lost in a corn field and all. I'll take two double cheeseburgers and a small fry, he said. You want a drink, no? said the friendly Russian. No thanks, said the man. He hardly ever ordered drinks from fast food restaurants. He believed it was wrong to pay so much for something that cost the owners so little.
So the man waited in the space ship with several Russians in that McDonald's parking lot, and he didn't miss the corn field a bit.
But the serene stroll was cut short. Just as the man's mind meandered to pleasanter places, a bad feeling caught him across the jaw. I'm being followed, he thought. The Russians are after me. The man started to run in diagonals, cutting through rows every so often to correct his direction. The man ran into a clearing. The Russians were waiting for him there with a space ship.
The man knew there was no escaping from the Russians, especially if they had a space ship - and they did - so he climbed on board with them. Better to cooperate at this point, he thought. He was being held in a part of the ship that was a bit like the back of an enlarged ambulance, but without the gurney or sharp tools. The man sat on a bench next to two or three Russians, and across from him sat a handful more. The man thought that the Russians weren't as bad as he thought they would be. Even though they hadn't spoken a word, their quiet was not a cold quiet. They were just bored, perhaps, or hungry.
The man could feel that they were slowing down. They had been traveling for maybe fifteen or twenty minutes. It was hard to say how far they had gone. The man had no windows to see the outside whirling by. Probably for the better, he mused, because I get motion sickness in space ships. From the front of the craft, the man heard some murmuring and what sounded like an electronic voice.
One of the Russians sitting across from the man leaned forward and said, with a heavy accent, What you want to order? The man had been pretty hungry, lost in a corn field and all. I'll take two double cheeseburgers and a small fry, he said. You want a drink, no? said the friendly Russian. No thanks, said the man. He hardly ever ordered drinks from fast food restaurants. He believed it was wrong to pay so much for something that cost the owners so little.
So the man waited in the space ship with several Russians in that McDonald's parking lot, and he didn't miss the corn field a bit.
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