The Pretense
The next morning after breakfast, the news spoke of a massive blackout in the Clubb slums, which as of the time of printing, still had not been fixed.
We again had Pearson do the morning meeting as Tony and I went to Dr. Salmon’s to have my neck rayed. Then we sat in the doctor’s office to await his word.
The office, like the doctor, looked very old. Wooden furniture worn at the arms and seat by years of sitting, books and their cases fraying. No dust, everything shone, but even the air felt ancient. “The doctor’s been with us for a while, hasn’t he?”
Tony chuckled. “Delivered my father, or so my father tells me. By the look of him, though, he might have delivered my grandfather.”
Dr. Salmon laughed as he came in the door. “I’m not quite that old. But I did know your gran
