I only smoke cigars though, I find cigarettes to be so ... cheap. I finish mowing the lawn and go inside, wanting to take a shower. My dad stops me.�...Charlie, come here.”He’s sitting at the kitchen table with a serious look on his face. He’s thinking again. When I sit down there’s a moment of silence. Barren like. “What’s wrong?” I ask, expecting him to tell me a relative has died or something. Instead he pulls out my recorder from his pocket, hitting the play button.I panicked.My eyes widened. Yet.Harold called. "Mr. Anderson?" Speaking." I'm Harold Franklin calling for my dad, Ben, of Franklin's Flying Service and Aircraft Restoration out of Lansing, Michigan." You have my aircraft?" Came in today ... those are some big containers. The truckers are here and we need permission to crack the seals so we can inspect. Just so you know ... Immigration and Drugs are here too." Crack away, Mr. Franklin. Unless someone else is shipping something in my containers that I don't know about, tell. More

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