Dear Mr. Peacock,


I miss your plumage, and I’m flummoxed by your plummeting desire to be desired. You’re like an albino in a cave, lacking spunk, and I’m trying to spelunk deep into your abyss—your abode, and things won’t bode well if you dwell on the past. I am the goldfish of El Dorado, the Elder Otto, and you are younger and auto.

13; 31.7833 degrees North by 35.2167 degrees East; Treasure: Que lay jade coms; Fair is not fair—and that got him fired; Shrouded in mystery; Dig for the truth on an island known for oaks; You bring a shovel, and I’ll bring a lawn chair and a list of instructions.


Author: Jarod Kintz