197/365 03/07/365

Clearly, there had been some kind of misunderstanding. At some point, somewhere along some line, someone had misunderstood. Perhaps a clerical error. Perhaps some kind of malicious intent. AI hallucination? Digits of an address transposed. Something. 

Wilson Becket stood just inside his front door and scratched his head. The 10 llamas now in his living room regarded him with a kind of calm expectation. “Clearly,” he said, “clearly there’s been some kind of misunderstanding.”