Try as I might, I cannot recall anything before the plane crash, which was in actuality a heist getaway. Three of our crew revealed themselves as impostors—maybe even aliens—just before bailing, and left us on our own as we trekked back towards civilization. The path along the rugged hillside where we landed eventually produced a square house, but upon closer inspection, it was a facsimile, then another. The third, a split-level vacation home, was occupied, and the couple we caught returning from grocery shopping allowed a blond woman among us to use their cellphone to call relatives she assured us were trustworthy. Her word, however, wasn’t good enough for me, and I ran for it into the night, recommending Daryl from The Office to do the same as I passed him and others relaxing outside. She betrayed us and the police arrived for the rest of them.
Seems like my whole department was on the lam with me, and our pictures were on the news. Mine appeared towards the end, so I hoped I would avoid detection by the public. I nervously boarded a train, but changed cars when I felt the heat was on. This one was oddly shaped like a triangle, with two entrances at one corner split by a wall: I sat along the far side, and when a Black afro’d police officer entered, searching for me, I hid my head under my hoodie. Luckily so did a number of other young men to my right; one caught his attention and he drew his weapon, shouting at him to show himself; in the confusion I calmly walked to the other exit on the left and discreetly hurdled some passengers to get out.
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