Fred Monson. Numbers. The man with a bom-bom-bom for all occasions. Up and gone, like smoke, like some distant tune that you can't quite tell if you can hear it in the distance, round the next corner, or if it's just that you expect to. Bom-bom-bom where's he gone? Not much to go on. Just the facts. This is what he left us:
What does this tell us? He was a man like any other? Perhaps. That we miss him? Yes. That he was ready for the impending apocalypse? Most definitely. So where is he? In a bunker preparing for the final stages of some master plan? If you know anything, get in contact.
No comments:
Post a Comment