July 17, 1976

45 years to this day, Sheriff Wiseman was born to a sweaty couple in NYC during a heatwave and power outage. Despite the traffic, the Wiseman’s had arrived safely to the hospital right at the knick of time. The police hadn’t escorted them, but because officers had made an appearance while Lana was breathing through it in the taxi cab, emotions heightened, the sirens piercing—when she later held her newborn boy, she decided that Sheriff would be his name. Ben went along with it, collapsed in the room’s arm chair—his body gelled to the cushions, the atmosphere dazzling, his mind in a daze. He wiped his brow with his pointer finger. “Sheriff,” he murmured, “Sounds like hope.”

Present Day

Sheriff was grocery shopping in the produce aisle, listening to the song playing on his air buds—A Change is Gonna Come (featuring Lizzo); he loved the original, but then his sister introduced him to St. Paul’s version and he was hooked.

At check out, he looked over the magazine section—one of which called out to him and he reached out for it. Glossing the cover was a man in his early 30s, arms open, a big smile on his face—the title reading, “The Meaning of Life; by Philosopher Maverick Ileac Jr.” Flipping to his article, he reads, “…philosopher Iddo Landau suggests that all of us have everything we need for a meaningful existence—“ “You’re up,” the person behind him pipes up, the man was wearing a garish purple jacket and half his size. He places the magazine on the concierge belt…

Later that night, he looks up Maverick Ileac Jr….