The room was dry. Figuratively, though also literally. If an old leather bound book was a room, it would look like this one. A lot of dark wood.
In the centre of the room sat a dishevelled man. Unshaven. Unwashed. He hadn’t changed tuxedos in weeks. Around him sat half a dozen older, less disheveled men.
‘Do you know why you’re here?’ said one of them.
‘I used to believe that God created us,’ said the dishevelled man. ‘Then I went through a Buddhist phase. Then I believed that the universe itself was God and we were all part of it, a universal consciousness. Now… Now I don’t know what I believe.’ His name was Bond. Jim Bond to the overly familiar. (more…)