The Roswell Cafe smelled like old people and stale aftershave. The chicken fried steak was good, but I'd had better...
I walked outside to light up a smoke, when suddenly, out from behind the wooden indian, this bug-eyed, bearded homeless guy accosts me and shoves this gaseous little globe in my hand.
"They're gonna kill us all!" he whispers, then he runs around the back of the cafe, past a cheap hotel and into an old abandoned Phillips 66 station.
Moments later, I heard a scream, and the muffled sound of gunfire.
I knew he was dead.
I knew now that everything that I'd heard about this place was true...

I walked back into the cafe for one more cup of java, furtively clutching the greenorb in my jacket. I sat down, pulled it out, and examined the little alien fetus inside. I thought about how ironic it was that out of all the people in this world, that guy entrusted me with his lifes mission, hoping to expose the conspiracy that drove him into madness...

What a fuckin idiot.
Christ, this little Martian makes a bitchen Xmas ball!