approximately eleven-twenty or thereabouts. Is this accurate?
PURVIS: Yes.
DAIMLER: Mr. Daly says you were gone from the room when he checked in on you the next morning. Where were you, Sir?
PURVIS: Where?
DAIMLER: Mr. Purvis, you were discovered on the sidewalk in front of this hospital at approximately eight o’clock in the morning, the day after your show. We’re checking to see if there are tapes, can you tell us what happened?
PURVIS: Hospital?
DAILMER: Yes, sir, the hospital. Can you tell me where you were? Who did this to you?
PURVIS: Oh, that bitch.
DAILMER: What bitch, Sir? Sir? Mr. Munroe, who is the bitch? Sir? Doc?
CARELLA: He’s out again. I’m sorry, I should never have allowed this. He needs to be kept stable, please, I need you to leave now.
DAIMLER: Damn it, we need —
CARELLA: This man is in tremendous pain,Detective. He needs rest. I’m sorry, but you need to go. I will call you when he’s able.
DAIMLER: No need, I’m not leaving. I’ll be sitting in the corner until he wakes up.
TO: [email protected]
FROM: [email protected]
SUBJECT: Oh, figure it out
Dear Eric (and all others, hello to you as well),
Well, if I wasn’t before, I am now officially screwed. Had to hock the computer for survival money. No more popping out of hiding for brief moments to see my shadow. I weighed the options, and food seemed slightly more important than my laptop, now gathering dust on some pawnbroker’s shelf. I did my best to delete its contents, but hey, who knows? Could be some useful tidbits left on the hard drive. No doubt I’ve neglected to delete a folder detailing my exact whereabouts, or worse, my weird predilection for Italian horror cinema. If you find it, fellas, more power to you. The hunt is on!
The television networks say it’s only a matter of time until my inevitable capture. I gather that officials now know my location, and even now, federalés are surrounding the building (I’m at a public terminal, in full view — no spiderholes for me), slowly advancing on my position. I can feel the dot of heat from the laser sighting on the back of my neck.
Well, I guess I should just turn around and surrender. Oops, just my imagination. Still got some time left.
You never appreciate how time is a factor in your life until you’re faced with the end of it.
Luckily, most Internet cafés are equipped with fairly dim lighting schemes, the better to play
Everquest
with. Add in the sickening aquamarine glow from the LCD screen, and my features are effectively masked from any gamer who might accidentally raise his head up from the personal adventures of Man_Slayer592 to take an mmorpg breather. Not that that ever happens. Those dudes are focused!
The weeks passed relatively quickly at READ , my psyche expeditiously adapting to the meagre requirements of indiscriminating patrons. The layout of the store became second nature, and I rapidly unearthed the hiding spots every employee took full advantage of. The travel section behind the maps. Language arts.Philosophy. Computers. Actually, the computer section was invariably full, but these customers were so well-versed in their choice of books they tended to completely ignore store workers, as you’d ignore a lamp or unsightly damp spot on the rug of a neighbour’s home.
The mystifying rift between my co-workers and myself was now somewhat patched, although they were still guarded in their conversation. Other employees, less discerning in their choice of friends and more willing to freely chat, passed along rumours of Aubrey’s unholy command of all things printed.
“I swear,” said Marcus, a pimply twenty-something currently completing his Masters in folklore and mythology, “I swear, the guy’s on a whole other planet. I once asked him, ‘What’s the name of that book with the guy in the red jacket?’ He gave me three different books in less than a minute. I think he’s the Matrix.”
The only way I can think of to
PURVIS: Yes.
DAIMLER: Mr. Daly says you were gone from the room when he checked in on you the next morning. Where were you, Sir?
PURVIS: Where?
DAIMLER: Mr. Purvis, you were discovered on the sidewalk in front of this hospital at approximately eight o’clock in the morning, the day after your show. We’re checking to see if there are tapes, can you tell us what happened?
PURVIS: Hospital?
DAILMER: Yes, sir, the hospital. Can you tell me where you were? Who did this to you?
PURVIS: Oh, that bitch.
DAILMER: What bitch, Sir? Sir? Mr. Munroe, who is the bitch? Sir? Doc?
CARELLA: He’s out again. I’m sorry, I should never have allowed this. He needs to be kept stable, please, I need you to leave now.
DAIMLER: Damn it, we need —
CARELLA: This man is in tremendous pain,Detective. He needs rest. I’m sorry, but you need to go. I will call you when he’s able.
DAIMLER: No need, I’m not leaving. I’ll be sitting in the corner until he wakes up.
TO: [email protected]
FROM: [email protected]
SUBJECT: Oh, figure it out
Dear Eric (and all others, hello to you as well),
Well, if I wasn’t before, I am now officially screwed. Had to hock the computer for survival money. No more popping out of hiding for brief moments to see my shadow. I weighed the options, and food seemed slightly more important than my laptop, now gathering dust on some pawnbroker’s shelf. I did my best to delete its contents, but hey, who knows? Could be some useful tidbits left on the hard drive. No doubt I’ve neglected to delete a folder detailing my exact whereabouts, or worse, my weird predilection for Italian horror cinema. If you find it, fellas, more power to you. The hunt is on!
The television networks say it’s only a matter of time until my inevitable capture. I gather that officials now know my location, and even now, federalés are surrounding the building (I’m at a public terminal, in full view — no spiderholes for me), slowly advancing on my position. I can feel the dot of heat from the laser sighting on the back of my neck.
Well, I guess I should just turn around and surrender. Oops, just my imagination. Still got some time left.
You never appreciate how time is a factor in your life until you’re faced with the end of it.
Luckily, most Internet cafés are equipped with fairly dim lighting schemes, the better to play
Everquest
with. Add in the sickening aquamarine glow from the LCD screen, and my features are effectively masked from any gamer who might accidentally raise his head up from the personal adventures of Man_Slayer592 to take an mmorpg breather. Not that that ever happens. Those dudes are focused!
The weeks passed relatively quickly at READ , my psyche expeditiously adapting to the meagre requirements of indiscriminating patrons. The layout of the store became second nature, and I rapidly unearthed the hiding spots every employee took full advantage of. The travel section behind the maps. Language arts.Philosophy. Computers. Actually, the computer section was invariably full, but these customers were so well-versed in their choice of books they tended to completely ignore store workers, as you’d ignore a lamp or unsightly damp spot on the rug of a neighbour’s home.
The mystifying rift between my co-workers and myself was now somewhat patched, although they were still guarded in their conversation. Other employees, less discerning in their choice of friends and more willing to freely chat, passed along rumours of Aubrey’s unholy command of all things printed.
“I swear,” said Marcus, a pimply twenty-something currently completing his Masters in folklore and mythology, “I swear, the guy’s on a whole other planet. I once asked him, ‘What’s the name of that book with the guy in the red jacket?’ He gave me three different books in less than a minute. I think he’s the Matrix.”
The only way I can think of to
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