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  • Just a year back, I was scrambling along the junked-up shore line of the Charles River, making sure to climb every twisted tree, inspect every piece of interesting trash left by somebody in the world who-knows-when, peering in every washed-up oyster/clam/mussel/crab shell, and walking along every stone wall, when I saw a bottle. A perfect green-tinted bottle that sent my mind racing to movies and books and islands and lost souls and oceans and captain hook. This was a bottle, it seemed, meant to carry a message across the seven seas; a piece of glass meant to lie in the hands of countless people. So, of course, I picked it up. I had always wanted to put my own message in a bottle and send it off around the world. I thought of placing my existance inside that bottle, and someone retrieving it somewhere in africa. So I asked dad for some scrap paper, and wrote this:

    hello, finder! We are starving and poor. If you have found this, which I assume you have, please take a visit to 20 Payson Road, MA, U.S, And please bring cookies with you! Also it would be of great good if you keep this bottle, as it is capable of sailing around the world. Feel free to put in your own message to the world as well.

    I know, I know, we're not starving or poor. that might have been a selfish thing to say. But it was part of the bait; I imagined that a stranger, one day, would come and knock on our door, carrying a basket of cookies, and asking, "Are you the poor souls who sent that message in a bottle?" Even though I wish that would happen, under the surface I know that my words will never be answered. The bottle could have sunken, could have been eaten, could have been too well hidden for anyone to find, or if anyone did find it, they would not have cared in the least bit. No stranger has knocked on our door with a basket of cookies yet, but still I hope.
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