A brief pause in the heated debate between a writer of pulp and our hero so that air might be cleared a little. You know your close to the rubber room when you find yourself yelling some very irrational things at a technical device.
I'm beginning to think that our hero has entered a pact with that devil from
Seattle Cortina, or Cortana, or whatever her name is. They're both in there
somewhere, plotting against me. Ask me anything? My foot!