They all play.

Nice one Dom, over a year later and another post. Blog on!

So, something happened to me on the way home from walking the dog today. Then I got home and totally forgot about it. Engrossed in other activities, like reading web news and installing software, I suddenly had the overwhelming feeling that there was something I was forgetting.

And it turned out to be a doozy.

At first, I couldn't think what it was for the life of me. Was it some rant I wanted to post on Twitter about how LA gardeners and their ubiquitous (and illegal) gas-powered leaf blowers are usurping even cunting cigarette smokers in heralding the decline of Western civilization? Or some incensed knee-jerk polemic about Australia's censorship or California trying to enact more anti-videogame legislation? Fucking family values. No. I mentally retraced the steps of my dog walk and finally found myself standing at the virtual mailbox.

Last week I saw what I had assumed to be the springboard of an ARG or similar - letters left atop the local USPS mailbox whose envelopes simply read "play". For some bizarre reason I didn't take one at the time. Considering why now, it was either me thinking it was a hidden-camera-reality-TV sting (no thank-you) or maybe I was just in a hurry. But inexplicably, in hindsight, I left them well alone.

This time, dog in hand, at a different mailbox, separated by five days and half a mile from the last one, I bit.

And this is what was inside:

I can't verify the veracity of any of the information in my missive trouvé, but when I dug into my pocket and rediscovered this recently secreted but forgotten jewel, it immediately put me in mind of Guy Pearce's tattoos in Memento. Something amazing was lurking, forgotten, just below the surface. Fucking ace!

Oh, and someone, somewhere, has AIDS. And it's not me.