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- "I once owned thirty-seven acres of land," the stranger told me over a glass of warm whiskey. "Thirty-seven! Can you imagine it?"
- "I can try," I told him. "You want me to try?"
- "Try," he said. "Go ahead and just try."
- I tried. "No, I can't imagine it."
- "It was all because of the old Postmaster General. Remember Mr. Malü Peabody? He saw my land one day. He said, 'Mr. Doctor-Mister, you've got a mighty fine parcel of land there,' he said, and I said, 'You're right, Mr. Malü Peabody. I got this land ten years ago in a bar bet over which lizard would eat a fly first.' I said, 'We had to find some lizards first, which was quite a problem, let me tell you.' I said, 'We found three, but we needed four, and by the time we found the fourth, the second one had died, so we needed to find a fifth one to replace that, and then by the time—'"
- "I did it," I said.
- "Did what?"
- "Imagined it. All thirty-seven acres. I imagined it all." I shrugged. "It wasn't that great."
- He swigged his whiskey, all in one bristly motion, and he looked me in the eye, and he said, "Fuck you," and left.
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