Garth staggered out of the water and discarded his scuba gear before collapsing onto the beach in exhaustion. In one arm he held a black box. In the other he was holding a box of unsalted airplane peanuts.
A girl named Abby quickly ran over to see if he was alright.
Garth struggled to his knees and nodded. "I've got good news and I've got bad news," he started, before coughing up a lungful of Indian Ocean water. "The good news is, when I was out there scuba diving," he pointed towards the ocean, "I happened to come across that airplane that disappeared a few weeks back." He held out his hand and proudly displayed the black box that he had plucked from the wreckage. The black box recorded the activity in the cockpit; it would probably reveal what caused the plane to crash in the first place.
"The bad news is, the only snacks I was able to find in the plane were these unsalted peanuts. Unsalted peanuts are the worst!"
Abby agreed. "That's pretty hot that you found the plane down there, though."
"Yeah, I guess," Garth shrugged. "I suppose these peanuts would be good on an ice cream sundae, you think?"
Abby nodded.
"Tell you what, let me go pick up some ice cream and drop this black thing off at the station. I'll meet you back here in forty-five minutes and we can have some sundaes." Garth winked at the girl then walked over to his car.
At the supermarket Garth got some vanilla ice cream, chocolate syrup, cherries, whipped cream, and a hand of bananas. While he was waiting in the checkout line he also grabbed the latest issue of Playboy.
Garth was the kind of man who read Playboy.
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