Cashier v. Cellist

It's a world of strife and change, of connection and classification. The Cashier, by no means of her own, has developed--through acceptance of a handful of parameters established by unseen institutions--a myopic vision of reality in which greater value is attributed to reality television than, say, the reality of her own mortality.

I can't make a call from up here, she says, shaking her cell phone. I've got no bars, y'all.

The caretakers heave the Carver's body into the pit.

How I gonna know who won Dance Dance Dance: Dance Party Dance-Off? Because you know I voted for Luaman.

The Cellist arrives.

You, says the Cashier, pointing. The Cellist looks behind her. You, says the Cashier. Who won Dance Dance Dance: Dance Party Dance-Off?

The Cellist informs her that Luaman won the contest.

The Cashier squeals with delight. Ooh, Brandi's gonna be so pissed, ya'll. She voted for Lo'train.

Oh, I think Lowanan would beat Lo'train any day, says the Cellist.

That's I what said, girl!

Thus a bond is formed between these women based almost entirely on the gyrations of several competing, meretricious personalities in an hermetically sealed, well-lit enclosure two thousand miles away.

They raise their guns. Their guns go off.