Yes, we have no Bananas

“So you decided to escape the USA when they stopped serving bananas?”

The coyote had a Canadian accent and smiled as the drones buzzed by overhead. He was either very confident his hacking or blissed out on auto-meditation. Maybe both.

“Not because they stopped serving bananas.” Paul couldn’t help but whisper. The back of his head prickled with imagined targeting lasers. “I’m escaping because they lied to us about why they stopped serving bananas. They said a plague from Asia wiped out the species.”

The coyote threw his head back and laughed, and Paul clutched at his racing heart.

“Jesus, can you be quiet?”

“Don’t worry, little guy. The drones can’t hear us.” The coyote wiped a tear from his eye. “Banana plagues. Ha. I hadn’t heard that one.”

“What about dogs?”

“That’s what the pushers on your shoes are for.”

He was talking about the patches he’d stuck to the undersides of Paul’s shoes, and the way they allowed Paul to skim like a ghost a foot above the ground.

“What about border guards?”

“That’s what bribes are for, kid.” The coyote giggled. “Anyone shows up, I’ll throw a banana at them.”

So the movie chips had been right. Once Paul was in San Francisco, he could eat bananas, and drink milk. Honey. Sugar. Outside of the USA, he would be able to fly through the air, and buy enough exotic weapons to come back and save his family. Liberate all five states!

They slid through the air, angling their feet to compensate for gusts of wind, passing over rocky ground and dry creek beds. Neither drones nor dogs found their trail, and the border neared.

 

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