Jack of Harts

I grew up in a world where aliens were real. I studied them in grade school, and they would show up so we could talk to them. I hear they love talking to us kids. The feeling’s mutual, I assure you. They were out of this world. Literally. The time that really nailed that home for me was back in the Blizzard of Eighty Seven. That would be 2287. A freak cold front came in out of Canada on January 27 and didn’t lift for a month. It was so cold even our cars wouldn’t start. Hundreds of families were trapped out there on both sides of the border and we rallied the townsfolk to go out and find them. So picture a bunch of local Northern Minnesotans bundled up at the aid station in our cold weather finest, drinking hot chocolate or coffee because even we were cold. And then a bunch of purple-skinned Peloran walk in out of the cold in t-shirts and shorts to help us out. Not a care in the world. Not even shivering. I’ll tell yah, I was a feeling a bit jealous that day.