“Are you the welcome committee? Because, boy, do I have some complaints to lodge with you. This place is a dump.”
“Compared to my last assignment, it’s a palace.”
I scoff. “Really? Where were you, Guantanamo?”
“Yes. Follow me, please.” She turns and walks away.
Some people have no sense of humor.
I follow her past dozens of containers identical to the one I was thrown in. Most are eerily silent, but from within maybe five or six comes the sound of music. Though the walls of the containers are made of thick steel, the music isn’t muffled. It’s so loud, it thumps.
It’s the Meow Mix commercial theme song, a mind-numbing chorus of meow-meow-MEOW-meow performed by a singing cat set to a ragtime piano score.
I’m glad they didn’t subject me to that. I definitely would’ve cracked.
The woma
