I stared at him with an incredulous look plastered on my face, "You're joking right?"
"This is not a matter to be joked about!" the hand said with a serious, barking tone (what is he, a dog?), curling itself into a fist.
There was a minute of awkward silence and gaping mouth before I regained whatever composure I had left and replied dismissively, "Okay, dude, stop this nonsense and scram."
"You don't understand!" the hand said with a dramatic tone, "legend has it that there will come a slobbering, pathetic young man to a park at exactly 3:43 P.M. who would plopped himself onto a bench, pulled out a pocketbook, and started wondering whether he should continue on his much-forgotten fantasy novel or start working on a new adventure idea he got on a whim while staring at the ceiling!"
The hand paused before adding, "Oh, and his name is Dan," he said with an "a-ha!" pose.
"... don't you think the legend is a little bit too specific?" I accused, finally deciding to ignore the "slobbering, pathetic young man" part.
"The legend has spoken..." the curious appendage said wisely.
"Now come along! I'd like you to meet someone!" it (he? she? oh, what the heck) said with renewed vigor.
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