I made a social media post on telegram and Poast. I was whining about getting a new passport.
Just got done a five hour ordeal getting a new passport. I’ll write about it later, but in short, you’ve got open borders, but with all the drawbacks of an annoying authoritarian and incompetent nationalist bureaucracy. I am amazed at how much of my time was wasted.
Naturally, this piqued the curiosity of many of you. When I say that I mean no one really cared, but I’ll pretend otherwise. I can hear you all collectively saying to yourself “I am literally dying to know what important mission you are needed for requiring a passport?” Well, it’s all very simple.
SCENE: Jazz music plays softly in the background as a handsome man with striking yet kind eyes casually sips a martini. Shaken, not stirred. He’s leaning over a bar, for the moment by himself. Then he turns back to the dance floor, the camera cutting to various tastefully hot women stealing furtive glances at him from the corners of their eyes as they dance with their wealthy benefactors.
He puts the cup back to his lips with a knowing smile. His eyes linger on a certain portion of the crowd. Excellent cinematography takes us from his eyes to a close up of one woman in particular, her back turned to us. She has white elbow high gloves on, and a red dress that hugs her figure, parted at her right hip.
The handsome mans eyes casually drink in the elegant beauty in front of him. He starts at her bare calves, working his way up her body until he notices that her graceful neck has contorted itself, and her right eye is looking back at him. She looks down only for a second, before looking back, the tiniest of smiles on her lips.
He involuntarily breathes out, a subtle motion if you weren’t looking, but as he turns to put the drink down a melodious male voice speaks to him from the dark behind the bar.
If he was startled he doesn’t show it, taking his time to turn around.
Shekelstein: James. James Shekelstein.
He notices the man is wearing a cougar mask with ornamental fangs that curl down around his mouth. It hides his face, although there is a spark of recognition in Shekelstein’s eye.
Mysterious Man: There’s been a change of plans.
Shekelstein: Do tell.
MM: Our mutual friend in Seattle has been most… displeased with us.
Shekelstein: He’s never been agreeable.
There is a slight moment of pause, the corners of the mysterious man’s mouth turn up just the slightest. A brief flash of well disguised rage dots Shekelstein’s face as he realizes he’s admitted to knowing less about his supposed employer than he’d like others to know, but then it is gone.
MM: You’ll be joining the “Big Man” down in Seattle.
Shekelstein: I wasn’t aware that I took orders from you.
Mysterious Man moves closer. Shekelstein makes eye contact with him the entire time, not giving an inch until MM is right next to him, close enough to whisper in his ear.
MM: It appears there’s much you are not aware of.
And with that he draws himself back, pats Shekelstein twice on the chest. For a fraction of a second, an icy cold glare permeates his blue eyes, before MM puts on a convincing air of drunken exuberance as he moves to mingle with the dancing crowd.
Shekelstein turns to watch him, dismayed at how quickly he loses him in the crowd. Almost absentmindedly he touches the same place on his chest, only to encounter something hard. Two somethings.
He pulls them out, two thin slivers of fancy paper. Extravagance bordering on decadence, but golden guilded tickets are tickets nonetheless. Looks like he’ll be watching the Big Game with the Big Man, who he most unpleasantly learned is actually a woman.
With that thought he reaches back to his martini on the counter and takes a pensive sip. The glances of the flowers on the dance floor suddenly of no interest to him.
Shekelstein: So, it’s come to this.
Anyway I’ll be gone until Friday night, so don’t expect too much content.