Dear Planet Earth,
Something’s coming. Something big if Perry’s anxiety can be believed. I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s just screwing with me though; he’s been playing psychological warfare since this father-son kidnapping adventure began, and the fact that he can read this blog means I’m literally an open book. Maybe not literally.
He came in and took his usual seat at my small table. He was breathing heavily and his eyes were as big as golf balls. I was about to offer him a drink using my best Dr. No impression, which (I’m not ashamed to say) I’d been practicing for much of the day, but he beat me to the punch by asking if I’d been in contact with any of my military comrades.
I almost flat out told him no. Instead I asked what it mattered, would he really believe me either way. He didn’t seem to give that a lot of thought and just went into his other accusatory questions.
Did I know where my friends from LA were? Did I see who attacked the overturned truck outside the camp? Where exactly was the library we camped out at? I gave him some more contemplative non-answers, and he ignored every one of them.
We went on like this for about ten minutes until he finally looked me straight in the eyes and urged me not to try to leave. And then he left.