It happened when he was on vacation. In a bar naturally. The big one. No power anywhere. City dark for miles. Everything quiet. Except here.
Here generators buzz like insults, keyboards clack. Phones flicker green against drawn faces.
The stage lights come up, then silence, then someone counting from the shadows, first a voice, then fingers: “Live in five, four, three,” two, one. Then questions through an earpiece.
He makes answers out of words, one by one. Head buzzing, tongue rank from the coffee. Serious. Reliable. Not drunk.
How the hell’d they find him? And why hadn’t they brought him his black mock turtleneck?