FL999
"POSTSCRIPT"

DATELINE: THE HORIZON (9:99 AM, year unknown)

Fellow passengers, it’s another beautiful day in the Limoverse. We’re watching the birds as usual. But there’s a change now, a new pattern to their flight. It must be the spring migrations. They’re forming the letters of a poem:

On the one hand, it was never meant to be like this
On the other, 2.3 million gallons of molasses were never meant to flood the streets of Boston
One cold morning in 1919
35 miles per hour, they said
25 feet high, Atlantic bound
21 killed, hundreds more candied
It threw a truck in Boston Harbor
That's when we knew it meant business

January is the sweetest month
Bitter roots just sleep
Snow forgets it used to be the salty sea
Distilled from the deepest discontent
Drifting in the sunshine now
Stick around, we said

[Editor’s note: remaining words – if any – unclear due to cloud cover]

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Here end the known chronicles of the Food Limo.

No doubt the passengers sailed on, but our archives are silent on the matter. Probably a system error with the clocks. That’s what you get with digital, of course. Next time we’ll use a sundial.

Rumor has it the Limo itself was repurposed into a mail car during the building of the Church Avenue tram in the 2030s. But that’s a story for another time…