The pandemic was waning, if not entirely gone. It was November, a thick blanket of snow covered the farmland, and the ponds on Evan’s property had frozen thickly enough to skate on, although no one had.
“Five minutes,” came a voice from behind Evan. He was propped up in an uncomfortable chair in front of a blindingly lit mirror in the green room of a TV station in Springfield. The makeup-and-hair technician was putting a last-minute trim on his bushy eyebrows, which he had to admit made him look at best like an intelligent Neanderthal. A protective paper collar was tucked into the neckband of his white shirt, and his new suit was hung on a rack behind him. He hadn’t yet worn it to be seen, but he’d liked how it looked on him when he’d tried it on for the tailor’s second fitting. The fello
