Only I wrote this 15 years ago or so….
In a glass house located on the side of a hill in northern Ontario lay a man on a couch talking to himself and wearing dark sunglasses. The room was bright and white and sparsely furnished. His conversation was animated, full of expansive gestures and loud curses.
“Jesus Christ, Mimi, you scared the hell outta me!”
“What do you mean ‘you told me’? You didn’t tell me shit!”
“For Christ’s sakes, woman, do you think I lay around all day just waiting for you to call?”
“You’re where? Where? I can’t hear you over the sound of….awww, shit.”
From outside his house came the sound of roaring jet engines. Someone had parked themselves on his landing pad. It was usually restricted to those he gave the code-key for the forcefield to. Obviously, his code had been broken or scrambled. The man on the couch got up quickly and threw his sunglasses to the side.