fogpeople.org
He sits alone at the corner table, staring into his empty glass. Shirt collar open, tie hanging askew, pinstripe jacket draped unceremoniously over the back of his chair. A waitress comes by and nods at his glass. He hands it to her without looking up.

Across the room, a door opens and a woman steps inside from the night. Dark hair, lipstick, red satin sheath dress and legs for miles. Scanning the room, she spots the man and glides over to his table, drawing the collar of her fur coat tight around her throat.

“Good to see you again, Maddie,” he says, kicking out a chair for... (+) expand

fogpeople.org
He sits alone at the corner table, staring into his empty glass. Shirt collar open, tie hanging askew, pinstripe jacket draped unceremoniously over the back of his chair. A waitress comes by and nods at his glass. He hands it to her without looking up.

Across the room, a door opens and a woman steps inside from the night. Dark hair, lipstick, red satin sheath dress and legs for miles. Scanning the room, she spots the man and glides over to his table, drawing the collar of her fur coat tight around her throat.

“Good to see you again, Maddie,” he says, kicking out a chair for her.
“Shut up,” she suggests, seating herself.

The waitress reappears with a full whiskey. “Anything for you?”
“Red wine,” Maddie answers. “I don’t care what kind, as long as it’s expensive and he’s buying.” She points at him with her chin. He nods tiredly, and the waitress heads back to the bar.

“So, did you listen to it?” she asks, putting both hands down on the tabletop.
“You mean this?” he asks lazily, tossing a CD onto the table. It’s something called “City of Night,” by the Fog People. She nods impatiently.
“Yeah, I listened to it,” he says, taking a gulp of his drink. “So what?”
“Did you find it interesting?”
“Well, it’s a little cinematic, if that’s what you’re getting at.”
“Ya think so, eh?” she responds sarcastically as the waitress sets down her wine. She sniffs it suspiciously first, then takes a sip and goes on: “It’s a film noir set to electronic music!”

Leaning back, he pulls a cigarette from his pocket and sniffs it longingly but doesn’t light up; you can’t smoke anywhere in Seattle anymore.

“What’d you expect? The guy who wrote it went to NYU film school. What’s his name?” Turning the CD over, he checks the cover. “Michael Hayes White, that’s him. Bunch of his songs showed up on that ‘Cherub’ internet TV series too – made by Caution Zero Network, I think. Who cares?”

“I care, actually,” the woman quips, taking a sip of wine and shooting a suspicious glare. “Don’t you find the story on this thing a little, uh... familiar?”
“Familiar? Mad, it’s just a story. Some people meet up in a bar, take drugs, have kinky sex, break each other’s hearts. It’s a story. I mean, it’s a concept album, after all; of course it has a storyline. What are you so worked up about?” He shrugs. “Production values are pretty nice, though,” he comments, tapping the CD.

Just then, a blonde with curvy hips and a young face brushes past their table. The man stares intently as she moves down the hall toward the ladies’ room. Maddie takes the opportunity to dump a tiny vial of clear liquid into his whiskey.

With a little tilt of her head, Maddie returns to the conversation. “I’m worked up because I think I know where this story came from. Don’t you think it’s odd that we know all those people who sing guest vocals on this thing?”
He tosses back the rest of his whiskey in one gulp. “Just a coincidence, Madeline. I never even met the guy.”
“Really?”
“Really,” he swears.
“Well then, I’ll be keeping this, thank you,” she says smoothly, pocketing the Fog People CD as his eyes glaze over. She gets up and follows the blonde to the ladies’ room. (-) collapse