True Story

As I walked down Hamilton Street, the very same street the great man himself once trod, I began to hear muffled voices coming from my backpack. Pulling out my iPad, I discovered a live video feed on the screen, apparently another accidental FaceTime call from my brother in Japan, who appeared to be sitting in the front seat of a car, talking to the driver. Positioned directly behind them, I could see we were headed down a winding dirt road in the middle of a dense forest.
“Bob!” I said directly to my iPad as a young woman in a Tupac t-shirt passed by with a smirk on her otherwise pretty face.
“Mick!” he answered, with some surprise, turning around to get a better look at me. “How the hell are you?” I continued down the street, device in hand.
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