Varley nodded. He almost smiled. And then the horrors behind him and the ones on tap intervened. Ned could hardly keep up with his former boss, practically running down the corridor, up the steps, into his office, a space dark as the bar below. Ned counted the thick wad of bills Varley handed over. The last time he could hardly believe his good luck was years ago, meeting Rhonda for drinks after work, the soon to be Nebraskan springing a proposal of Caligula-like debauchery, it seemed so alien, so original, but really, it fit right in with the rest of the rabble, duct-taping their sad sack existence one double, one pack of cigarettes, one desperate parking lot dry hump at a time.