The other day I'm out taking a drive with Royce.
Life is providing a nice little calm interlude.
I'm feeling at peace with the road, the world, and my existence (envision a smiley face).
Then suddenly and inexplicably- I hear a loud strident hissing sound while finding myself enveloped in an ever thickening white billowing fog.
I'm confused yet fairly calm.
I've quickly accepted the new reality that I've become the target of terrorists- eager to use their newest form of aerosolized anthrax- so I'm a dead man anyway, as I begin to slow the van looking for a safe place to stop.
By the time I pull over, the hissing noises and the wafting fogs of death have ended.
I turn back to check on Royce and notice some deadly chemical spray residue on the floor... residue that narrows in a "V" shape pointing toward the back and under the passenger seat... right where I keep the now depleted fire extinguisher.
A paradigm shift!
No terrorist activity- simply Royce in fire-fighting mode!
He was somehow able to pull out the safety pin and activate the lever.
This is an unlikely complex chain of behavior to occur merely by happenstance, and since my deceased dad was a firefighter, it seems like a safe bet to assume that my dad's discorporate reincarnated spirit has taken up residence within Royce.
I'll know for sure when Royce starts retelling stupid old stories and making lame jokes.
Life is providing a nice little calm interlude.
I'm feeling at peace with the road, the world, and my existence (envision a smiley face).
Then suddenly and inexplicably- I hear a loud strident hissing sound while finding myself enveloped in an ever thickening white billowing fog.
I'm confused yet fairly calm.
I've quickly accepted the new reality that I've become the target of terrorists- eager to use their newest form of aerosolized anthrax- so I'm a dead man anyway, as I begin to slow the van looking for a safe place to stop.
By the time I pull over, the hissing noises and the wafting fogs of death have ended.
I turn back to check on Royce and notice some deadly chemical spray residue on the floor... residue that narrows in a "V" shape pointing toward the back and under the passenger seat... right where I keep the now depleted fire extinguisher.
A paradigm shift!
No terrorist activity- simply Royce in fire-fighting mode!
He was somehow able to pull out the safety pin and activate the lever.
This is an unlikely complex chain of behavior to occur merely by happenstance, and since my deceased dad was a firefighter, it seems like a safe bet to assume that my dad's discorporate reincarnated spirit has taken up residence within Royce.
I'll know for sure when Royce starts retelling stupid old stories and making lame jokes.