Good afternoon, and welcome to The Silo.
On the morning of the audition, Ari took the L-Line downtown to meet with Terry Bradwell of CityBeats at the same coffee shop where they had met when he propositioned her about the job. He had been sitting in the corner when she arrived but rose and greeted her halfway with a smile playing at the corner of his lips. There was an unmistakable tension in his handshake, not the firm clasp of confidence from before. His palm was damp, fingers slightly trembling, leaving a lingering clamminess when he welcomed her.
As they settled in their seats, a noxious scent of cigarettes reached Ari’s nostrils. His clothes reeked of it, as if he had soaked in a chamber of smoke. Without delay, he hurled a slew of questions like verbal projectiles, all carrying a gut-churning blend of black coffee and tobacco. “Are you ready? What type of questions did they ask? Did you sign any forms? Where is the interview taking place?”
The shift in Terry’s demeanor was a tad off-putting. His assertiveness was a far cry from their last meeting, in which he was very professional. This was not the same Terry Bradwell who wore an impeccable suit with debonair charm. This time, his espresso-colored blazer had seen better days and a disheveled tie hung around his neck like a forgotten accessory. “Wow. Okay. I was planning on grabbing a cup of coffee before we got down to business, but uh ... yes, I am as ready as I’ll ever be.”
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