I discover the crashed F35 in my lone walk in the woods. As I start to take it apart for parts, a woman catches me. She tells me to stop. It’s her father’s business. She’s Lockheed. I say no. We make love all night. In the morning, the feds come and I escape in one of their uniforms. I tell her to meet me in Mexico, but I go to Canada. I don’t trust her. Besides, I like the cold. Thirty years later, I get a postcard. I have a son and he’s the chief of FBI. This is where the story gets interesting. I tell Lockheed to meet me in Paris by the Trocadero. She’s been waiting for me all these years. She’s never taken another lover. I don’t care, I don’t show up. I go to Berlin. That’s where I stashed the F35