Gone were the old days where an old maid banged on an upright piano above a roaring crowd, this sound was loud enough to be heard outside the building, she thought to herself as her eardrums throbbed. He hung over her—he and his loan to her and his connection with her and that terrible evening—a vague, disconcerting possibility of annoyance and exposure. The unfortunate carpenter struggled violently, but ineffectually. Sebastian began to maintain a harem. Around her neck was a little gold chain. A hollow plunge, echoed and re-echoed by the walls, marked his descent into the water. “Mike, what’s going on?” She sat up, groggily rubbing her eyes. Entranced, he stared at the name.
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