A prompt response.
I knew a guy who microdosed LSD. He worked at that pizza place on Waters, you know? That gourmet take-home place? He was the guy tossing the pie in the oven.
His name was Cuz. At least, that’s what everyone called him. I never bothered to ask why. I was too busy listening to him wax poetic on topics of the soul.
Okay, his doses may not have been “micro”. But that pizza was fire, man, I’m telling you.
Any way, one night he says to me, “Cuz,” he says, “you know they’re coming, right?”
I’m like, “Who?”
“The aliens, cuz. You know who I’m talking about.”
“Nah, dude. You said aliens?”
“Yeah,” he clarified, and then he pointed. “You know, cuz. You one of them.”
I laughed, because, I mean, what else are you supposed to do, right?
“You one of those time travelers, cuz.”
I laughed again, confused. “I’m a time traveling alien?”
“No, cuz,” he said. “Aliens are just us from the future.”