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Steven loans me an ill-fitting suit jacket for my job interview. I'm lacking the cash to dress well, but hopefully that's about to change. I drive downtown to an ugly brown building and open a brown door to a brown reception area. A friendly office manager greets me then leads me to a windowless, empty office for my interview--also brown.

My foot taps nervously on the berber carpet as I wait, trying not to sweat. I hear something bump against the wall but I don't think much of the noise until it happens again.

Rap pap pap...rappa pappa pap.

I feel sick. It's the same rhythmic knocking I heard while inside the garden shed, now emanating from the other side of this windowless wall. It steadily grows louder. My skin crawls knowing I've been followed--but by what? The tiny voices start singing again. This time I can make out the words.

Courier, oh courier
Shed your mortal skin
Plunge into a secret sea
Let life begin again

"Goddamn this," I mumble. I'm shaking and sweating. The voices are squeaky and gravelly all at once, failing to sound human.

The thumping stops as Mister Sanchez, my interviewer, opens the door. His suit is brown and my eyes are stuck wide.

The stout man knows something's wrong. "Son? Are you alright?"

"Yes, sorry, I think...I think." I violently throw up across the table. Mister Sanchez is going to need a new tie.

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