HOW FAR CAN A PIÑATA RUN INTO THE DESERT?

3. UP NEXT, SOME SOOTHING AND RELAXING SOUNDS FROM THE CITY.

I.

You're in the 34th floor's office kitchen after hours eating forgotten bagels left behind on the kitchen table and rehydrating yourself with water from the office water coolers when you see a noticeboard with all sorts of notices like one that's asking people to clean up after themselves and another that reminds people to label food in the fridge. You see another notice that simply reads:

FREE PILLOW. CALL JOSEF.

There's a phone number underneath, which you immediately call. No one picks up, so you send a text: Pillow still available? You figure this short notice probably deserves a short response. The person writes back. Who is this? You frown, then you send another message: You're giving away a free pillow, right? There is a pause, then Josef writes back. This is William, right? Being a clown again, huh, Willie? You write back, saying that you are not, in fact, William but are looking to take the free pillow as advertised. Josef doesn't write back for a minute and you feel a little let down. Does this person not want to give away their pillow? Then, a response that disappoints you even more. Josef says he doesn't actually have a pillow to give away and that notice you read must be a prank of sorts, perhaps played by William. He does, however, have an offer for you that if you accept, he will get you a brand new pillow. You ask him what the offer is. He asks you to come to his desk at 9am tomorrow morning and he'll tell you what to do. You accept and say you'll be there at nine. He asks your name and you pause for a second. Black Dog, you reply.

***

You're wandering down the city street during the busy morning and when you see a man on horseback riding slowly down the pavement towards you. He has a big moustache and is dressed like a gaucho with a big hat and a colourful poncho. As he rides, he fills up people's cups with coffee from a pot he has attached to his saddle. He laughs cheerfully as he does so, and he doesn't seem to be taking any money. He approaches you, realises you don't have a cup and he takes one out from a compartment on his saddle. He pours the fresh coffee into the cup and hands it to you. It's steaming hot with an oaky aroma that makes you feel good. You take a sip as the man gives you a hearty smile and trots off down the street. The coffee is delicious and makes you feel energised and ready for the day.

You carry on walking, past a newsstand where you see some more financial headlines that don't look too optimistic, along with pictures of a balding old man that looks like a financial-executive-banker type and then you carry on until you pass by a Buddhist temple followed by a market where you spot massive fish laying on mountains of ice being sold in some sort of early-morning, auction-style showdown. There's a lot of noise and commotion, so you move on and turn a corner onto a major road when a black van suddenly pulls up right next to you and a team of special force tactical assault officers storm out of the van.

You feel afraid, like something bad is about to go down, but then you see that each of the officers is carrying packages of various sizes — the kind of package you would receive in the mail. You leap out of the way and watch as the team of special force tactical assault postal delivery officers charge into a nearby apartment building and disappear. They must be special deliveries.

***

You're walking through the office cubicles, watching the office workers glaring into their large, CRT computer monitors and rifling through thick stacks of paperwork while the sounds of clunky keyboards click-clacking and office telephones ringing echo around the rows upon rows of cubicles. At once, you come across a desk that has the name JOSEF WILTZEN. A twenty-something-year-old wearing a loose tie sits at the desk, staring into his screen. When he looks up at you, he looks confused. He studies you for a second before whispering "Black Dog?" You tell him "yes". He stands up.