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Posted by Wolfman Lou on: 12:03 AM, 06/ 4/20
   I muted the monitor on my swing arm. My final night on the air. My last three tracks played. I stepping into the production booth, keying a cabinet, and produced a bottle of scotch, sleeping in the file cabinet for my departure. Simon produced two shotglasses from the top of the cabinet, and we shared a laugh.

   I never got to know my deck as well as I should have. Simon was talented, we had report on the air, but we didn't know each other. He was but a character to me, and it was tragic. We sat down and took shots, counting the minutes. We had an amount to go. Wish You Were Here, Love Lies Bleeding, Stairway. I made sure my exit would be something.

   "You know, I always thought you hated me," Simon said. "I wouldn't have kept you around if I did, son. You did a fine job for me." He gleamed, seeming affirmed in himself. "What does life hold for you next?" I asked him. "I've looked into mixing and editing podcasts, maybe taking the stage on radio myself? What is your next step, sir?"

   "A few extra years to relax and enduldge in this nectar," I sloppily stated. The broadcast was still halfway into Love Lies Bleeding, Video didn't kill the radio star. These little pricks were. "So podcasting? Bit flooded of a mar-."

   The wires in the room began to come to life. MIDI, USB, standard, all flying about, looking to strangle life. It was as if electric snakes darted through the air. I felt a cord wrap around my neck as I spoke. "-ket. Simen, plese. I'm dyin'. Plese."


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