“Sign my petition?” asked the cute girl with the freckles.
My signature was on her piece of paper before she uttered another word.
“You know, we could use some help,” she continued with a dimpled smile.
And suddenly I found myself sitting beside her at a cheap foldout table, eager to support this mysterious cause and maybe score a phone number.
“So, what’s this movement all about?” I finally asked.
She spoke clearly, enthusiastically, but her plan made no sense. It involved eliminating tidal waves, stabilizing the weather, and somehow blowing up the moon.
“Huh,” was all I could muster.
