And Completely by Mistake, the Switch was Made
This is where I come in. I was asked to cover for a sick colleague. All I had to do, they said, was stand still in a corner and watch. Which I did. The problem was I didn’t know what I was watching for. So I just watched. People mainly, coming and going, circulating in the party. It was interesting yet unengaging. Little did I expect anyone to approach me.
He was tall and unkempt, but you could see beneath it and in the voice (that voice!) that he was clearly a distinguished person. He asked me an extraordinary question regarding an otter. Unfortunately his accent and smooth (so smooth!) tones led me to misunderstand initially. I thought he was talking about a rotter, which I could not grasp, then I thought the subject was Ray Liotta. I dare not ask him to repeat yet again, it was becoming embarrassing, rude. Was he Ray Liotta? He could be, older of course, maybe in character for a part? I found myself staring.
“Is that a red otter?” was the repeated question. I had no idea, of course, there being no otter in this swanky party I was quite sure. I knew a thing or two about otters, though, so started babbling about the number of hairs per square centimetre that they boast. This is an astonishing fact, that has never previously failed to amuse and fascinate. Not Ray (sorry, it wasn’t Ray Liotta, I keep forgetting; in my mind it was, and always will have been)
I made my excuses and stuck out my hand to shake it. My temporary works badge was in my hand, I had forgotten. His eyes lit up, and he placed his hand in mine, and put his other on my shoulder. He took my badge. He slipped a gun in my jacket pocket.
Why, Ray, Why?
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