…the single-engine plane touches down in a clearing, surrounded by impossibly tall trees, the smell of rain, and what sounds like thousands of brightly-colored parrots, squawking his name as he exits the airplane in a tan linen suit and wide-brimmed hat, a mosquito net covering his face. “Odrisamer,” the parrots say in unison. “Odrisamer Despaigne.” He tips his hat to the flock of them, and the parrots all converge onto his arms, his shoulders, his neck, nearly strangling him in the process, but Odrisamer Despaigne proves more than able to tame a thousand birds at once. He pulls a wrinkled old treasure map from one of the many pockets in his suit, and announces to no one in particular, “I think we’ve found the place.” Just then, the sound of a gunshot. “Someone’s after us,” he says, matter-of-factly, again to no one in particular, and the parrots, as quickly as they appeared, soar back up into the trees. Odrisamer Despaigne is left to search for shelter so that he can escape the evil poachers before an errant shot takes out his arm — the same arm that earned him a ticket to the States, a ticket he was glad to give up when he heard he was needed back in the jungle….
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