Look. I don’t
know why you keep bringing me in for questioning. I’ve already told you where I was on that day. I was having brunch, celebrating the
birthday of my buddy Pete D. Clutter.
We were eating slow-roasted pork belly with kale pesto and I was telling
Petey about this new home skincare remedy that works miracles--
Okay. Fine! You got me. I’ll talk about the heist. But I swear that I never met Keyser Soze. I don’t even think that he exists.
So it’s late night and I get a text telling me to go to this
one address. I walk into this room. Small room. Very cramped. But thanks to some simple décor
hacks they opened it up by utilizing negative space. And waiting in said space are three other crooks.
One guy was a crafty son of a bitch. Could break into any building. Dario Ignacio Yontez. We called him “DIY.”
Keaton was a born leader. Always trying to make the people around him better. Had all of these sayings like “Do small
things with great care” or “Never love anyone who treats you like you’re
ordinary.”
This third guy, Drake, looked like he belonged on the cover
of Men’s Journal. He always carried
a resistance band with him. Told
me that he knew 23 bodyweight exercises he could do anywhere and anytime.
Do you work out, Agent? Because if you wanted I could always share some tips--
Sure thing.
Back to the story.
So then this new guy walks in. The one who sent the text and brought us together. No, it wasn’t Soze. He was Soze’s right hand man.
His name?
Foodporn. Dmitri Foodporn.
He says all of us have managed to anger Mr. Soze. But that if we recover this one piece
of loot for him, all will be forgiven. Seems that Soze thinks we’d mesh well as a team. Like a patchwork quilt. A beautiful, hand-sewn patchwork quilt
that can double as a table runner.
We’ve all heard of Keyser Soze. We all know the legends about the ultimate kingpin. Even though no one has seen him, every single criminal wants
to copy his style. But Drake didn’t buy
it. Soze’s not real, let alone out
to get him. So, to prove his
point, Foodporn shoots him right in front of us.
Now, I’ve disposed of bodies before. That’s not a problem. But the blood stain all over my shirt? Luckily DIY had five simple clean up methods
using ordinary household items.
So Foodporn charters a plane and sends us off.
Have you ever been to Croatia? It’s definitely one of 10 countries you need to discover. And I could tell you about some of the amazing
places I’ve been. I actually have
this fun little tradition of putting one foreign coin into a jar to remind me
of every country I’ve visited. It’s
a really simple way to--
Fine. I get
it. Just talk about the job.
But you see, we’re not there to break into a vault or
somebody’s house. We were going to
knock over a wedding. A mob
wedding. I didn’t think we could
pull it off, but as Keaton said, “The job always seems impossible until it’s
done.”
We sneak into this Gatsby-themed dream wedding, disguised as
waiters. We’re passing around
appetizers like avocado hummus and BBQ corn on pea pods. Every table had custom place cards with personalized messages for each guest. I’m not sure if you’re planning on ever
getting married, Agent, but this was a reception you could easily recreate on a
budget.
Anyway, we start rifling through the wedding gifts and
Keaton finds it: It was a self-portrait of Soze. The only real clue to his identity.
And as we’re about to steal the painting, the mob hears
us. And they open fire. Keaton and DIY fire back. Bullets going back and forth. Painting gets obliterated. And nobody walks away from it alive.
So how did I survive?
Like a coward, I was hiding behind a barrel. A sherry cask. Distressed
wood. Could probably make one hell
of a side table if you were putting together a salvage-style living room.
And that’s what happened. I never saw Soze.
Swear to God.
But that’s the thing about Keyser Soze. I don’t think he’s real. He’s just an idea. He’s an image that we project, full of
everything we wish we accomplished but never get around to doing. Soze is just
a story that we tell ourselves for motivation. Believing in him is
like believing in Santa Claus or subtle personal branding or that you can get
Ryan Reynolds’ abs in five minutes a day. It’s a myth. Yet we still share
and spread the legend, trying to convince the world that he exists.
And like that...he’s gone.
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