[right][h2][color=999999]Lost in Translation[/color][/h2][@silver21][@Stanifly][@Auragreedia][/right]

[color=808080]A small smile tugs at the man's face, strained at the edges. Brows drawn up and together.

He reaches into his coat and produces a small notepad. It's a cheap thing, pocket-sized, plastic cover scratched and slightly warped. As he flips through the pages, brief glimpses of ink flash by: a half-finished sketch here, a margin crowded with tiny words there, doodles tangled with what might have been phone numbers or grocery lists.

The man finds a blank page, pulls a pen from the same pocket, and clicks the top. Writes. Turns the notepad around.

[i]My name is the refrigerator owes me an apology.[/i]

Each word legible. Handwriting neat enough. But strung together, they collapse into meaningless nonsense.

He lets them look, then pulls out his smartphone and thumbs open a notes app. A few tapped words, and he turns the screen toward the group.

[i]Pleasant to treadmill you, I'm called westbound.[/i][/color]