Secrets Best Left Unsaid

“Do you know what this means?”

“This product is licensed and bottled by the Coca-Cola Bottling Corporation?”

“What? No, not that,” Jim swatted the bottle of orange soda out of Eric’s hand, “what I’m looking at over here.”

Eric moved and looked over Jim’s shoulder, looking into the trunk in front of him. The dim light from the musty room around them cast a shadow over the contents. Eric reached in and pulled them out: a bundled stack of papers, a suit coat, and VHS copies of Stephen Baldwin movies.

“This is something. This is… important,” Jim said. “We can totally sell this stuff on e-bay, or maybe to Time Magazine.”

“I don’t know if that’s such a great idea.” Eric held up pieces of paper from the bundle. He put more across a table and illuminated them by flashlight.

“These… these are just,” Jim stuttered.

“I know.”

“No one will believe this… or, we can milk the greatest discovery of the century!” Jim said, the light back in his eye.

“You’re right. We need to let this be known.”

At an arbitrarily later date in an arbitrarily different part of the country, a woman walked into a grocery store. Her name was Kate, and her daughter Floret was with her. She put Floret in the shopping cart and walked around, gathering her various food items, along with some extra broccoli. Eventually, after deciding on the cane-sugar orange soda as opposed to the Coca-Cola bottled equivalent, she headed for the check-out. While she waited, she settled on browsing the check-out racks while keeping Floret’s hands away from the gum and candy.

“Huh,” she said, picking up a copy of Time Magazine, “I’ve never heard of it.” She read the headline out loud.

“Allen Ginsberg’s Howl  Actually World’s Least Successful Haiku.”