Wuthering Dirth

Oh, the lights in the disco are flickering again. Hard to tell if it's the poor state of the electrical on the Floor or just Jesus and his friends leg wrestling softly in the dark.

Doomey and I have been scrolling through the cap, searching for answers to questions none of you may have yet asked. We are charged with first looks, making the decision of what goes up and what back down. We do it not for ourselves of course but for the benefit of our readers for whom we want only the most scintillating, provocative, innovative cap we can find.

But what? How do we know what the people want? Are Doomey and I a microcosm of the people? He one part and I another and together the whole. The yin and the yang of the quiet corner readership? I wish I knew.

Theo, who are they, these readers of ours? Perhaps we should have a coming out party so that some of them may introduce themselves. If they are shy, our dear readers, it could be a costume party so that their true identities would be hidden. It is, after all, only their ideas and opinions we are interested in, not a comparative chart setting out their personal attributes or lack thereof.

But nevermind.

It's Saturday, the eve of another Hallmark celebration. And we, in our chairs here on the Floor, look for the last trickle of capital to land in front of us before midnight on Monday.

Don't hold back. On you, we depend.