Man in Witness Protection Doesn’t Like Me Following Him

By Phil Forrence

“Can I help you?” asks Greg, a twenty-seven-year-old dark haired male of medium build. “How did you know I was twenty-seven?” Greg asks quickly. Greg’s eyes dart around as if alarmed, confused. “Of course I’m confused, who are you talking to and why are you holding an audio recorder?” During our interview, I asked Greg about his last name and his previous whereabouts before Greg became the sole witness to that unsolved triple-homicide-quintuple-suicide-koala-bear-heist. “This is NOT an interview, BUS DRIVER, STOP THE BUS, I am getting off. Leave me alone. I didn’t see no koala-heist, got it? Leave the hell alone.” 
It seems Greg enjoys playing hard-to-get, but that’s probably why Greg joined the Witness Protection Program in the first place. Greg knows what he is good at. Greg’s the kind of guy who won’t give you answers unless you conceal yourself in his sink-cabinet and accost him as he begins to search for extra floss. “HOW DID YOU GET IN HERE? HOW DID YOU FIT IN THERE?? WHY DID YOU BRING A KOALA-BEAR?!?” 

Even experienced journalists make mistakes. Mine was a koala. Greg has moved now. Gone. The day after our incident some of Greg’s rougher-looking-Italian friends came to help him move. Greg looked so unhappy to be leaving. We may never know his last name or his previous whereabouts. We may never know why he has a 1-gallon hemorrhoid cream bottle in his sink-cabinet. Greg was a protected. For a short time there, we were all witnesses.
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