So I got two texts to my cellular phone, which still bears the St. Louis area code. The texts were in Spanish, and the content was essentially If someone calls for me, don’t give them this number. I assume that “this number” was the cellular phone from which the texts originated.
Friends, I’m no D.C. Collins, but I have on occasion fancied myself the potential plotter of thrillers, and often those suspense novels begin by drawing a normal person into a dangerous shadow world through some seemingly innocuous event.
So I’d be lying if I said I didn’t briefly consider whether an errant text message from a terrorist cell based in St. Louis set a van full of Gunwalker guns on its way southwest to rub out the recipient before the convoluted scheme unraveled.
You might call it insanity; I prefer to think of it as a rich interior life.