Staring at his crumpled bills, Derek's frustration hit its peak. Money was tighter than a jar lid on pickles.
Then a lightbulb flickered in his mind—why not tap into his own doppelgänger's brain? So, he sat down, closed his eyes, and imagined that mental hotline.
"Hey, Double-D," he thought, imagining his double lounging on a mental recliner.
Double-D's mental voice popped in, "Yo, what's cooking?"
Derek pitched a plan: "Check it, we switch places. You handle the cash chaos, I dive into something... unconventional."
Double-D paused, then grinned, "You want me to be the responsible adult? Sure thing, man. I'm game."
With mental fist bumps exchanged, they triggered the switcheroo. Derek felt like a jellybean in a vending machine, and then—
Derek blinked, squinting at the towering trees around him. Sunlight streamed through leaves like some kind of nature disco. He spun around, "What the actual...?"
