Some things are better not spoken of. Civilizations have collapsed over less.
The text message reads: “Guess where I am. No, guess. Go ahead, guess. You won’t believe it. Guess, guess, guess! Inside a huge hollow wooden horse!”
The garden soil here has special characteristics and in a fix can double as roadway paving compound.
It’s not like I’m asking the meaning of life. I’d be satisfied knowing if I’m supposed to click, wave, throw, dial, yell at, or dismantle the device in my hand.