Matt Barnes wasn’t the hero I imagined but he had mesmerizing tales that kept me on the edge of my seat. I was so captivated that when Matt Barnes came to the end of the story, I suddenly noticed I held an empty spoon in my hand and the spoonful of ice cream had long ago dropped onto the table cloth and melted. A true waste.

As my pen pal, Matt Barnes had spoken to me through those postcards. What the pictures and brief notes hadn’t said, I concocted by making up stories in my head about his ventures in exotic lands. He had already shattered my vision of him as a gallant cowboy but his daring stories quickly restructured my faith.

Read about him.

I received a package from Matt Barnes recently. Inside were two rounded tusks, yellowish and covered in gunk. 

How did he get them? I could only wonder …

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I received a plain package from Matt Barnes. Inside of it, we found a block of salt and a note. It never made it to Timbuktu.

Here’s how I dream it happened.

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