Thousand year eveI HAD NEVER BEEN TO A RADIO STATION BEFORE, AND I WAS MILDLY shocked that it looked so ordinary. Even the offices adjacent to the disc jockeys’ booths resembled those government agencies where you got your license or paid your taxes: a row of desks, clicking typewriters, worn-out, obsolete computers in a dirty beige color, a bunch of stonefaced secretaries, and a gaggle of people shuffling around and waiting in vague lines.
Off to one side, facing a corridor filled with people, were big square glass windows. Those were the disc jockey’s booths. From small speakers perched above the windows came the sound of a woman’s voice. In a corner of one of the windows was a little sign that said “On The Air”—just as I had expected it to be. The woman was weeping while speaking, and
