Susan Murphy, 2010
He settles back in the red office chair, about a foot away from the microphone, as he had been instructed by the voice in the headphones. He stares directly at the yellow windscreen, concentrating on lowering his tone and swallowing his nervousness.
'There's a spectre hanging over Europe,' said a second voice in the headphones. 'And I am joined by Criticulous to find out whether we can shed some light on the matter. Be the host to the ghost, if you like.'
There was a pause, an uncertain cough, and the voice, now reassuringly masculine and serious, repeated the statement, before racing into the first question. Criticulous realised that he was expected to answer, and coughed softly, away from the microphone.
The host swiftly moved to involve a third voice - the second guest - and Criticulous cast a bored glance around the studio. In the corner, despite several notices warning against littering, a selection of old, rusting, laptop computers had been dumped. Their cables were cut and disconnected, and the screens were cracked or, in one case, shattered. Realising that the voices had returned their attention to him, he mumbled a quick answer.
'It's something to do with the frequency of mobile phones.' Then a long pause, during which he understood that the conversation had moved on.
'If we could just take that again?' The first voice announced itself in his ear. 'You've been great, thank you. Do keep in touch.'
We waited for three minutes, listening to the silence, before removing his headphones. He made his way to the exit, casting his eyes around the corridor, hoping to find the runner who had deposited him in the studio.
Eventually, he handed back his security pass and wandered out into the foyer.
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