RYAN DENNIS

It shouldn’t come as much of a surprise that the typical North American Christmas dinner originates from the United Kingdom.

I was in elementary school when I first heard reports about this new technology called the internet. Having grown up with it as it evolved, it was up to me to tell my grandmother that Nigerian princes weren’t going to send her money or let my father know that no one from Scotland was going to put a down payment for the truck he was selling on Craigslist in upstate New York.

“It’s all the rage,” my father said. “Everyone is doing it.”

I was a bit skeptical.

A good friend of mine is very concerned with his health. He juices carrots, goes to yoga and once visited a shaman. He pointed out humans are the only species that drink milk into adulthood.

I sit on the couch and stare at the fat gray squirrels waddling along the electric lines. I pick up an imaginary shotgun and point it at them.

A small pack of dogs sat on top of the hill and watched us speed by. Everywhere in Bolivia, there are dogs.