Words splashed onto the page of their own accord as Jon lifted his pen. Childhood in Washington, DC, studies at George Washington University, a distinguished career in law enforcement, all leading up to a seemingly lifetime appointment as head of the FBI. Nothing unusual, nothing suspicious, just the history of one of the most influential men of the 20th century, a man well-respected even by those who disagreed with his methods. There was never any reason to so much as think of the man in a less-than serious light.
So Jon decided to change that:
"From the day of my birth on January 1st, 1895, I have never worn a single pair of pants in my life."
Jon smiled as he put down the pen. But then he frowned. A ripple flowed over the pages of the journal, from the sentence he wrote at the very beginning, all the way to the very last page. Jon flipped a few pages ahead:
"...my parents then removed me from Central High School for my own safety..."
A few more pages.
"...my final rejection letter proved to me that mine would not be a formal education, but rather a practical one..."
A few more.
"...the new milkshake machines were an amazing investment: not only did I profit from direct sales, but burger sales went through the roof as well..."
Jon closed the book. Burger sales? He looked out his window, over to the shopping center across the street. There was the supermarket, the drycleaners, the pet supply store, but that's not what he was looking for. His eyes scanned to the end of the strip, to the corner anchor, where he expected to see two familiar golden arches. Instead, there was one giant orange J.
Jon squinted to see the full name: where once McDonald's stood, now stood J. Edgar's.
