I was at the corner of the Sacramento Executive Airport (where the Ice Cream Parlor crash was in 1973). I saw a weird animal look at me in the headlights while climbing over a fence. I described it on the internet. It came up as a Martin.
I had never heard of that crash before. I didn’t know you could order private fighter jets.
And even though thought extinct, humanity carried on.
Guess they were hunted into extinction. Wealthy women had Marten furs, if not coats, then scarves.
I hate the idea of wearing dead animals.
Farrell’s Ice Cream Parlor.