On my car this morning I noticed an envelope tucked under a windshield wiper. Inside was the torn-off front cover of a book by Alistair MacLean, The Golden Rendezvous. On the back was written this note:
Perhaps friendly aliens.
What's weird is that it was my car. And I am Anna. And (a) that name is not on my building directory, and (b) there's no way to connect me to my parking space either. Perhaps needless to say, I know no "Sea" or "Nick."Cian
Sea, Anna (sp?):
We're both busy but its sunny now and we should hang out.
XO Nick [phone number]
P.S. The roof of the laundrymat is clean and nice.
Perhaps friendly aliens.
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