... at the crazy caption comics cluedunnit ...
The sun slanted into the room like cold iron bars, ready to knock me out
or beat me up, I wasn't quite sure which yet. It was a pitiless
afternoon, defiantly bright and cheerful. And here was I, with murder in
my heart and last night's hangover scratching at the back of my
eyeballs, with a bag full of black pens and a room full of punks eager
to put them to bad use. I narrowed my eyes and stepped into the light,
feet uncertain on the stained red carpet, fiddling with the piece in my
pocket like it was my favourite lucky rabbit's foot, which I suppose,
right then, it was.
"Alright," I said, "Let's get started." Not one of them looked at me.
Well, a glance, maybe, but they had stuff to say to each other, and only
a few hours left to say it. So I pull out the piece and drop it on the
table and that gets their attention. Or maybe it's the shouting. Either
way, they're listening now, which suits me because they have a hell of a
lot to do in the next three hours. Me, though, I'm more focussed on the
here and now.
Say, the next fifteen minutes.