Arrival

I was strolling the street one night, minding my own business, when they came, hummed down like an old hoover and parked on a nearby hill. I cursed my almost dead battery, managed to grab a picture and walked cautiously closer. Soon enough a small door whirred open, and an old-looking chap limped to me. He said I looked wasted and offered me a buffet in their canteen. I have nothing against buffets, quite the contrary, all of us Finns absolutely love buffets, but I suspected it might be even more costly on this ship than on the cruise ship to Sweden. He assured me it would cost me nothing at all and kindly led me in.

And what a "canteen" it was! There were these huge chandeliers hanging from the unvisible ceiling (they called them engines), and underneath them the cornucopia of diners were gathered for the feast, toiling and moiling and babbling with their plates, and so varying in sizes and colors they were that I sometimes had trouble telling them from the dish. With the help of my friend I managed to fill my tray, and we sat down to a cosy little table in the middle.

When I eat, I usually read at the same time, but since their was nothing even vaguely readable at hand, between my mouthfuls I started to tell him about life on Earth. He looked interested, the others too, and the babble around me gradually quieted down, and when I got to the Berlin wall, most of them had stopped eating and just gazed at me.

Even though I know I'm a pretty eloquent storyteller, the silence was slightly awkward first, but the main course was so delicious I soon forgot their staring. However, I was pretty sure that they started to get restless when I got to the other wall, the Trump one, and soon enough, my friend rose up, grabbed me by the arm and without a word led me to the hall. So hasty he was I barely had time to snatch a juicy-looking Schtumpfenstrüdel or whatever it was in my breast pocket.

He guided me out, swiftly waved his hand at me, and the ship zoomed away before he had properly closed the door behind him.

I've patrolled the streets every night since then but haven't seen a glimpse of them. I have no idea what alarmed them so, but my wife suspects that I – as usual – might have belched at the table.

Without the photo she would never believe my story, she says.