Once upon a time in a suburb near Sacramento there was a slowly aging woman by the name of Sharon. Sharon really wasn’t fond of green apples. She lived with her brother Steve and their pet gerbil named Hamster. They didn’t know the difference between gerbils and hamsters. Guinea pigs would’ve blown their mind. On the way to the store, they decided to take Hamster for a walk. Then they decided not to. “Gerbils might be allergic to the store,” Steve said. “You’re an idiot,” Sharon swiftly replied, “I’m sick of your nonsense; I want you out of my townhouse.” It was really more of clustered subdivision, if you want to get technical, Steve thought to himself.So Steve walked out the door and took a left, repeating all the while, “the left will lead you home.” Of course, it couldn’t lead him home because Steve had lived in Sharon’s home. Steve did have a job, might as well get to work early, so he figured. Steve was a fortune teller at Sacramento Sq., an oval shaped open-air plaza with shops that mostly sold fresh fruit and vegetables. Blindsided by this cruel twist of fate, suddenly questioning his fortune telling prowess, Steve paused to ponder whether there might be a better occupation within reach. After all, “Mr. Steve” had little otherworldly mystique, and his sign drew in few customers.As he approached Sacramento Sq., Steve saw a familiar face. It was DiJon, an old friend from high school. “Hello Colonel Mustard,” Steve emphatically called out, “What’s new?” To be honest, DiJon didn’t get it. He’d never really understood the nickname. DiJon had only played Clue once and no one picked Colonel Mustard, so there was really no reason to blame him. He had been in the Army, but not as a commissioned officer, making the unexplained promotion more of slight. “Just out for a stroll,” DiJon politely informed him. DiJon turned right, he always went right, seemed to be a more righteous path. As a result, Steve and DiJon rarely ran into each other; it had been years since their last chat. Soon after, they fell out of touch.