Author’s Note: This is today’s Friday Fictioneers photograph. Rochelle isn’t in any way responsible for the humor that follows. That is entirely my fault: I told my husband it made me think “what if someone slept through Paul Revere’s ride?” I started this piece. He finished it. We make a good team. Enjoy!

Dearest Father,

My most profound apologies to you and the citizens of West Bournemouth. My attempt at rebellion would have borne better fruit had I not passed out in the tavern before the meeting. When I woke I didn’t realize I was volunteering to ride with Paul Revere – indeed, I only answered “aye” when I thought they were asking if I wanted another drink. Too much rum bodes ill for a man’s ability to walk, much less understand the instructions “one if by land, two if by sea.” The less said about how I ended up stripped naked and tied to a tree when I should have been alerting the public to the Redcoats’ approach, the better. The candle has burned down, Father, and I am ashamed. Until we see each other again, I remain your contrite (and sober) son,

Angus