{ ... }

۞

  “Come?”  

  “When?”  

  “Later?”  

  “Where?”  

  “Location's not been released yet, keeps the pigs off.”  

  {across-the-room}  

  At the illegal rave Lamed was looking out for terrorist tête-à-tête.  

Rorafes:  “If you're terrorists then the objective is to bomb a residential neighbourhood so that central government moves out-of-town.”  

Ochus:  °Oooh … there's an activist in.  Pro-activia, every mornin'°  

Ochus was believin'  

{flexin'}  

{flirtin'}  

  Immediately Lamed wantèd to fuck her.  Flatchest.  That kind of activity the night before.  Must rest.  

  “Is this the work of the leading psychologist?” Ochus askèd Maeve.  

  Maeve had given Ochus a copy of her zine.  

  Maeve was salivating slightly.  

  Maeve's zines got passèd around at an illegal rave or two.  And so one split into two and then got passèd around-a-few.  As one letter split into two, people began to know who from who.  The anonymity of Qavanagh QC, the cover of anonymity was being blown by Maeve's dirty sheets.  The pink sheets as they came to be known.  Illuminati, illuminosity, plenty of animosity.  Names-a-plenty.  Scarcely any anonymity.  She was exposing the fraudulent.  At least we got a good story.  It was the decade of The Tens.  It was bound-to-be.  

۝