Mister Jason. My freshly printed name card, hanging from my lanyard. We’re all Jasons here. I stride into the conference hall. Early of course. Time enough for reconnaissance. I practise my exit route. It’s going to be tight. Two hours later, I’m keying in responses to each poll. Econometrics, Population Control, Welfare and Warfare, usual fare. Each vote rewarded with a participation token. Like pigs fed with ham. At the urinals I meet the contact. He slips me the miniature remote. What’s in it for you? Jason asks me. Everything. Fawkes had kegs. We have gas. I hope you’re watching.
Sue Clayton
23/4/2022 04:40:48 am
Fawkes got caught. Comments are closed.
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"Classic"
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