One of the guys working on our house gave C a small deck of "collectible" trading cards. I think the series is titled Aliens Among Us. Each card in the deck features an artist's rendition of a particular space alien. On the reverse are one paragraph descriptions of the encounters with the pictured creatures, provided by the various humans who experienced the meetings. The full depths of most of these encounters were not adequately plumbed until the participants were mesmerised, questioned while under hypnosis. I picture federal agents gently twirling glittering pocket watches, but that's just me.

The giver of this remarkable set of cards explained to C that he wanted her to have them because he knew that "she was into space". He's the same person who often wears a t-shirt proclaiming his predilection for cannabis consumption in any form. Throughout the day he can be seen walking to his truck, and then returning to the work site, having retrieved a single tool. He can repeat this slow dance a startling number of times in a work day, often at five or ten minute intervals, each time returning with a necessary, different, single tool.

Because he's into space.

8/9/2022