You see, every day for the past couple weeks has felt a little unusual. I noticed a certain lack of…something. And I couldn’t quite put my finger on it. After shutting the lights off one night for bed, I turned them back on just as fast. Then back off again for no reason in particular. Then on again because the synapses finally found their way around my brain to shake hands and I realized I needed a sign. Something, anything.

But not just something or anything.

A MISSING IGUANA SIGN.

Ladies and gentleman, this isn’t just another one of Joe’s lost iguanas. This iguana. Is. LARGE. And probably has teeth the size of dinner knives and claws so wide it could squeeze your firstborn’s head like a grapefruit.

Oh, but we read a little further and notice “large!” is underlined twice. Chronologically speaking, we can easily assume this lost iguana is doubling in size as fast as Joe can frantically scribble another bright-ass green “lost” sign.

Joe knew he had to keep this situation on lock-down or he’d be in some serious shit. I knew it too. We both knew it and traded our aura’s through the moon’s reflection every night. My bike ride to school every day was no longer the same. Fear itself rode snugly in my backpack next to my nectarine and sketchbook. The iguana could be anywhere, the iguana is everywhere.

Anyway, I found this edition of Joe’s limited edition “lost” sign upside-down in the middle of the road and swooped it up like a grandmother falcon.

And now it hangs in my room, reminding me every day that:

Lost
Iguana
LARGE!
Call Joe

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