Scott Springer
Humor is bacon and eggs without the cholesterol.
In a Nutshell
Scott Springer is not the old guy looking back from the mirror. That’s a shapeshifter thing. He’s perpetually thirty, like dog years in reverse. Currently he makes his living programming computers, and don't worry, he knows he's talking to himself as he codes. As an absent-minded professor type often lost in thought, he has indeed walked into traffic. Thanks for the shout outs, anonymous good Samaritans.
In the past he's been a mower of lawns, a gas station mechanic, horse wrangler, and carpenter. At eighteen he camped in the wilderness by himself for two weeks, bunked with the deer and all that. Much later, his granddaughter gave him a World's Best Papa T-shirt. Of course, that's subjective.
Man from space
Scott Springer slowly came to consciousness, lying in the sand, the smoke from a twisted spacecraft mixing with the heat, a horned steer slowly chewing its cud and watching from a wary distance.
Where did he come from? Why is he here?
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Scott has learned to blend in. With flea market credentials, he has married, raised a family, paid on mortgages and credit card debt, and always, always, has paid his taxes. He wants no trouble.
At night, he sits in the open and stares at the stars, feeling the connection.
I love mayonnaise. There, I said it.