Valhalla boasts only one condo. The Penthouse.

I take the tube to the Upper Heights. I walk through the stainless steel and marble lobby as the security guard nods to me. He has seen me before. He buzzes. A lift opens. I take a luxurious lift that flies me to Valhalla. Valhalla boasts only one condo. The Penthouse. The familiar door is open. I march in. The boss of my advertising agency is sipping a cocktail on the balcony of his luxurious condo. He is dressed in a power suit. He wears a Rolex and Italian shoes. He looks like a demigod. He asks me what took me so long. ‘Do you have the laptop evidence to discredit the Punk Patriots?’ he says. ‘We need it to destroy the last opposition to our cause. The Chief Navigator is about to be assassinated by the Punk Patriots. So someone needs to command the nation in the midst of this terrible crisis. But we cannot afford to muddy our sales pitch with contradictory details.’

I nod as I place the laptop on the chrome and glass table. Then I go out onto the balcony. ‘Who is going to shoot the Chief Navigator? How do you contact them?’

‘That is not my expertise. I don’t muddy my expensive shoes on such messy muck as that. I just spin the spin. I advertise the product. How do you like my exploitation of social media Christopher. After all, you helped to design the campaign. Has it all come off as you wished? It beats selling pickles doesn’t it?’

‘Yes’ I replied as he stood by him on the balcony. We watched people like tiny ants mill about far below. Then I pushed my boss off the balcony. The demigod screamed all the way down fifty stories. The way he landed it appeared he was not a demigod after all.

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