The room was dark. Except for the one light. A naked bulb. In my eyes. Blinding. I’d say at least 150 watts. But I’d be guessing. I couldn’t make out the little black numbers on the top. That’s bright.
The air was stale. Dank. The interrogator was gruff. Probably stale too. Most likely dank as well. Or maybe it was closer to stank. My opinion? Either/or. Dank, stank. Dink, stink. All the same, when you’re handcuffed to a chair in an interrogation room.
“So … why’d you do it?”
A loud sigh comes out from the blackness. From the same area where the words are coming at me.
“Why’d you stop writing the blog?”
“Oh, the blog?”
“Yeah, the blog.”
“Well, to begin with, let me say this. I don’t want to tell you how to do your job or anything, I’m sure you work very hard at it. But, if I were you and you were me I’d think the proper question might be: ‘Why’d you stop doing it?’ Don’t you?”
“Oh, a funny guy. I got me a funny guy in here.”
“You know what we do with funny guys?”
“As I am new here, enlighten me.”
“We waterboard them.”
“Ha – now you’re being funny. You’re pulling my leg.”
“Where the hell do you think you are? This is America, fool. We don’t pull legs around here. Hey Hans! We got us a funny guy in here! Let’s go waterboarding!”
“Hans? You have a waterboarder named Hans?”
“America, remember? Melting pot … land of milk and honey and indoor plumbing. Hans!”
“So what? So I got a little behind on the blogging … what’s it to you?”
“It’s been more than a month.”
“… I was waiting for the right moment?”
“… the New Year’s resolution to write every day was a bad idea? A cry out for self-destruction?”
“On the double, Hans!”
“All right, all right! I’ll start writing the damn blog again. Just do me one favor.”
“Keep your Hans off me.”
“Oh, very funny. Very, very funny. We got a live one here, Hans! Bring the fire hose this time!”