Dear Momma Chan,
My pleas are going nowhere. You’re the fifth celebrity I’ve written. The other four, nothing but silence.
I’m in a bit of a crisis. My apartment with the inflatable mattress burned down last week. Luckily, Rocky (my lizard) and I were out and about town, attending a competition.
It was a race amongst lizards to see which of the thirty would make it to the finish line first. The finish line was only a few yards from the starting place. The first hour, all the lizards stood there. Some walked in the opposite direction of the finish line.
Rocky started strong. He walked two paces, then looked up at the ceiling tiles. He fell asleep there for a few minutes. The other lizards seemed to circle him, one another, but not one moved toward the finish line.
Two and a half hours later, and seven beers in (that’s what all the lizard owners drank while rooting on our beloved reptilians), some scraggly-faced man’s lizard stumbled to the finish line. We all applauded. Five hours in, the race was complete. Rocky came in 29th place.
In those riveting racing hours, some poor neighbor of mine three flights up placed a stack of newspapers on the stove, not realizing his wife left it on. The flames were uncontrollable. He yelled, got his wife, both of them dressed for a bath, and ran down the stairs, hollering for everyone to get out.
The building burned quickly. Nobody got injured as most were working, gambling, or having a late lunch elsewhere.
Now here I am in a homeless shelter with Rocky. People snore very loudly. It’s impossible to get things done.
What do I need to do? Stitch a bomber jacket for Rocky. I want to make a whole wardrobe but need peace and quiet. Your house might be the most suitable place to do this.
We won’t bother you. I know you’re already a mom, but imagine taking on someone like me: A quiet, unpretentious man who could use a good shower while playing solitaire.
What do you think?
Love,
Herbert Yamaguchi III