The temperature in Ann Arbor got down to a record low of 23 degrees the other night, but I didn’t even notice. I was too busy drenching my sheets in sweat.

Something was wrong. I knew that people were not supposed to sweat as much as I was sweating. I started to wonder if aliens were supposed to sweat as much as I was sweating. Then I started to sweat even more. Then I started to wonder If I was an alien.

I know a guy who is recognized in certain circles as an expert on aliens. I figured maybe talking to him would help me sleep better at night. I hoped that this alien guy would tell me that in his expert opinion, there’s no good reason to stay up late sweating and worrying about aliens. That was be the best scenario I imagined. In the worst scenario I imagined, the expert would tell me that I am an alien, then he would teach me how to use my alien powers. I also imagined another scenario where the alien guy would have a preserved alien in a box, he would even let me touch its eyeball. It seemed like a win win win situation for me, so I scheduled a meeting with the alien expert at his apartment.

I arrive at the alien expert’s apartment shortly after four in the afternoon. He is a sturdy and gentle man, and he has told me to provide no accurate physical description of him beyond that. He also tells me to refer to him in anything written as “Rico”. I sit down, and he offers me tea and crumpets. I politely decline. I am here for business, not pleasure, and I have no idea what crumpets are anyway.

After a moment of uncomfortable silence, I speak first. “So Rico, tell me. Are there Aliens? And if there are Aliens, are they in any way relevant to us humans?”

By the way, Rico’s answer to the question he just posed is six. There are six alien species currently living on earth. “Most of these alien races are benevolent,” Rico says. “We should be thanking them for giving us music and religion. Or maybe we should just thank them for the music”.

I can’t take it anymore. Rico knows way too much, and If i stay any longer I will too. Listening to Rico, it seems like the more a person knows about aliens, the less they know about everything else. The last thing I want is to be kept up late wondering which one of the Beatles was secretly an alien.

I come straight home from Rico’s apartment. The sun is still up. I take a benadryl and fall right asleep. I dream of aliens, but this time it’s just Sam Cassell playing hopscotch with James Carville. This time, the aliens are the ones who need to sweat.