Still on a high, Kurt flipped through the channels. He finally stopped on Unsolved Mysteries. It was an episode that he had seen before. Something about this show attracted him to it. But on the other hand it was like a joke without the punchline. Yes, it was interesting to hear about all these different cases, but what was the point if there was no ending to them? The occasional updates seemed like a petty consolation prize. He wanted all of them to have updates. In fact he wanted all of them to be solved. Perhaps they should come up with a new show. No, perhaps he should come up with a new show, a show with all different kinds of mysteries in it, but with all of them being solved. He could even call it Solved Mysteries. Now there was a money-making scheme.
"My parents, brother, and I left Iran in 1980, shortly after the revolution. After a brief stay in Italy, we packed all our belongings once again and headed west to the exotic and the unknown: Vancouver. We had recently been accepted as landed immigrants, meaning Canada graciously opened its doors and we gratefully accepted; we arrived at Vancouver International Airport on my 10th birthday, three suitcases and one sewing machine in tow. After respectful but intense questioning at immigration, we were dropped off at a hotel on Robson Street, which was then still a couple years shy of becoming the fashionable tourist hub it is today. We were jetlagged, culture shocked, and hungry, so that first night, my father and brother courageously ventured out into the wild in search of provisions. I fell asleep before they returned. The next morning, I woke up at 5 a.m. and ravenously feasted on a cold Quarter Pounder with cheese and limp French fries that had been left by my beds...

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