CRANER and LUKA are meeting at a pub, just like in the old days.
CRANER: Can we make this quick, Luke? You know I don’t have time to indulge your adolescent occultist fantasies now that I’m a contributing writer at Quilette. I have a very busy schedule. I’m tasting sauvignon blancs with the Duchess of Bavaria.
LUKA: I thought that wasn’t for another two weeks?
CRANER: Well, yes, but I have to brush up on my knowledge of the situation in Kyrgyzstan first. She’s very erudite on the subject, and rumor is she has the ear of all the titans of Seventh Avenue, and of the Botswanan Chancellor of Commerce.
A young man wearing INCEL GLASSES sheepishly approaches the table.
YOUNG MAN: Uh, Craner, I read your latest article about the historical precedents of the situation in Kyrgyzstan. I don’t know much about politics, but I thought it was your best work yet, especially the way you characterized the situation around 21,000 words in. M-maybe one of these days you could give my blog a look, haha. I have a new post that might change your mind about Autechre, like, after LP5.
CRANER (without taking his eyes off the table): Erm… right. Thanks fellas.
LUKA: “Fellas”? Are you talking to Mvuent, from Minnesotta?
CRANER: Must you always bombard me with pointless details, Luke? Squinting to make out distinctions between these trivial people is insanity. If you’ll excuse me, I’ll be preparing for my appointment. I already told you that I need to impress the duchess with my expertise if she and I are going to f-that is, develop an elegant and stimulating intellectual rapport. Now, if there are any last digs you want to take at me, you might as well get them in. Because the next time you see me, if you see me again, I’ll finally have the power I've long deserved to shape and destroy nations. There will be a button on my desk that calls in an air strike capable of wiping out you and all your delusional dreamcatcher-weaving associates. Buona notte!