His name was Francis and he was born with an odd gift. By the time he was twenty, he was still a baby and his mother was dead. They switched him to goats milk and kept him in a cage.
I found him on an app; F4F. I’d been having trouble making new friends in Russia. So, I signed up and put in my information, interests, morals and so on. It set me up on something called a F4Fate.
“It’s a date,” my grilfriend said.
“A friend date.”
She shrugged. “Still a date.”
I went anyways. He was ten minutes late, led in by his caretaker.
“His name is Francis, he was born with an odd gift,” his caretaker told me; her name was Olga.
I was half-way through my second beer. “Hi,” I told Francis.
“Omphlalaa boogle-snarf,” Francis replied, unenthused.
Olga shrugged. “He doesn’t speak English. He’s been alive…
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