Larry Phields was one of the most boring travel agents in the world. He had never personally ventured out of Lake Point proper in his forty three year life, was utterly content in his mediocre work ethic, and had a mostly nominal social life. He was overweight without being remarkably corpulent, unattractive without being remarkably ugly, and boring without being remarkably dull. He was a rare breed of man who was utterly statistical, a median member of Lake Point in almost every way.
Larry Phields worked at the mall outlet of his travel agency, which saw so little business that a more creative mind than Larry's would have concluded that the travel agency must have been laundering money for some manner of criminal enterprise to stay out of the red. On most days he eat a sack lunch he had prepared the morning prior, but today had accidentally driven onto the freeway with his sack lunch still perched on the roof of his car. The lunch was now long since a smear on the freeway cement, and Larry was forced to resort to eating at the food court.
Larry had just finished ordering chicken nuggets from some knockoff wing kiosk, when a piece of crumpled paper fell into his path. While Larry hardly cared about littering in any context, something made him stop and pick the paper up today. A passing curiosity, perhaps. Larry carried the paper with him to an empty table in the food court. He opened the paper, shoved the first of his nuggets into his mouth, and read the words upon the page.
