<div style="text-align: justify;"><div style="background-color:#2e2e32; border:1px solid black; margin:10px 10px; padding-left: 5px; padding-right: 5px;"><div style="background-color:#9966cb; border:1px solid black; margin:10px 10px; padding-left: 5px; padding-right: 5px;"><span style="font-family: Century Gothic;"><img alt="" src="http://i.imgur.com/WWtSggu.png" style="float:left; padding:6px;"/><span style="color: #000000">The recent water failure has been a great source of irritation to all Night Vale residents and, a little unexpectedly, baristas, who seem to have left their haunts in great numbers to swarm on every place that is selling coffee - or, at least a water-less approximation of it. I've sent our intern, Joshua, to the barista district to get a cup of coffee for all the employees of the radio station. Hopefully, a bit of business will placate them. In the meantime, we reached out to the Night Vale Water Department, who have been working tirelessly to correct the issue.<br/><br/>"We have been working sooo hard," a representative yawned when I called them. "So hard. Believe me. Around the clock ever since it happened at 6:28 this morning. Yup. I've been sitting here on the phone all day. [loud burp] 'Scuse me. Anyway, this is not an automated response we recorded in case of emergency and in case everyone just needed some time off. We thank you for your call. We are working on it. Do not leave a message." And all of this before I even got to state my errand! To be fair, that is not all that surprising, I mean, to work with any kind of renovation, you have to be psychic. Just look up any job listing in that field. You'll see it listed as a requirement nine out of ten times. <br/><br/>We at the Community Radio Station hope that the Water Department will find and rectify the issue soon, particularly because Old Woman Josie keeps writing angry Facebook updates and I am getting really tired of all the negativity in my feed. Ah, but at least it looks like the weather will be nice.<br/><div style="text-align: center;"><object data="mp3player/emff_lila_info.swf" height="55" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" width="200">
<param name="allowScriptAccess" value="sameDomain"/>
<param name="movie" value="mp3player/emff_lila_info.swf"/>
<param name="quality" value="high"/>
<param name="FlashVars" value="src=https://www.dropbox.com/s/rw71m2dd9acujru/hang%20me%20oh%20hang%20me%20-%20oscar%20isaac.mp3?raw=1"/>
<embed align="middle" allowscriptaccess="sameDomain" height="55" name="lilaplayer" pluginspage="http://www.macromedia.com/go/getflashplayer" quality="high" src="mp3player/emff_lila_info.swf" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" width="200">
</embed></object></div></span></span></div><div style="background-color:#101010; border:1px solid black; margin:10px 10px; padding-left: 5px; padding-right: 5px;">Martin lifted his head ever so slightly in response to the bored voice that greeted him, not because it wanted to, but because it had to. Sometimes, he was glad he was unemployed. He wasn't sure he could have kept up even the shell of pretense for very long?<br/><br/><span style="font-style: italic">How can I help you</span>, the voice had asked. "You can't," Martin wanted to say. "No one can help me. There are arrows in the sky and the secret government agent assigned to my case is pissed at me, because I can't be bothered to be civil with her, but God, she is such a fucking bore, so how could I even begin to be civil?" A rubbery screech that sounded like a set of tires against asphalt interrupted the stream of words of which he had said none aloud. Instead, he tried to act like it might be expected of him.<br/><br/>"The biggest bucket of coffee you can get me. With sugar."<br/><br/><ul>Silver put on their best apologetic smile, something they had mastered after many years in the business of waitressing. "I am sorry, sir.," they stated in the most pleasant voice possible. It had taken them a while to figure out the correct way to make people feel the most comfortable while delivering them bad news. "We currently do not have any water, therefore making it impossible to make coffee," they explained, unsure if the customer was familiar with the process of making coffee.<br/><br/>"We have a wide array of freshly baked goods for you to choose from though, if that has any interest for you," they offered, mostly because that is what their manager had told them to say whenever a customer couldn't get what they had originally requested. It was easy enough to be a waitress as long as you remembered your script, and the customers didn't have the nerve to suddenly go off script without warning at least one business day in advance. "Do you need a moment to rethink?</ul><br/>"Did the water tank break?" He asked incredulously, peering at the waitress - waiter? human?? - through his dark fringe. All good establishments surely had a water tank they could use in emergencies, Martin thought. A hand slapped against the window glass to his right and he jumped, turned, and stared right into the empty eyes and unfeeling mouth of a barista. Its lips moved rapidly, as if it was trying to communicate.<br/><br/>Martin averted his eyes from the disturbing sight once more. "I thought wheat and wheat-byproducts were illegal?" He asked, quietly so as to get the serving personnel into the least amount of trouble. "What do you recommend?" He continued in a very loud voice.</div><br/><div style="background-color:#4c3366; border:1px solid black; margin:10px 10px; padding-left: 5px; padding-right: 5px;"><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-style: italic"><span style="color: #d2d2d2">Meanwhile, a group of people somewhere other than Night Vale get up and prepare to go about their day.<br/>They expect that their day will involve beeping machines and lots of barely legible handwriting.<br/>They are mostly right.</span></span></div></div></div></div><br/><div style="text-align: right;"><span style="font-size: 85%; line-height: 116%;">This post features a collaboration with <a href="//www.creativefreedomrpg.com/memberlist.php?mode=viewprofile&amp;u=111291">@iamcrystalqueer</a>, marked by indentation.</span></div>