The other day, the bigwidesky family received news – through a surreal game of “telephone” – that Skye was dead. A shock to us all – especially Lana – Matt and I haphazardly switched to “panic mode” and went across the street for sushi. “Drinking all the chilled sak√© in the world won’t bring him back,” we lamented.

Contemplating whether an obituary was necessary, we decided against it on account of the exorbitant two-day listing price. Instead, while discussing the intricacies of one-off impersonations, our flailing hands simultaneously spilled every drink at the table. The posthumous nature of this seemingly coincidental event was all we needed to convince ourselves that Skye wasn’t dead.
Well, that, and the fact Skye was sitting at the table with us.
For those who don’t believe it, the dashing photo says it all. Not only is Skye alive (holding today’s paper, nonetheless), he’s a modern-day Marty McFly, trapped in the proverbial downward spiral of a space-time vortinuum. Great Scott!

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