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Slowly and with purpose, Mac works his way through the twilight streets and meandering alleys. Despite appearing lost in his own thoughts, he keeps one ear on the world around him, listening for the hiss of any approaching GasPod over the creak of his leather jacket. It pays to avoid being taken by surprise when you’re in his line of work. As he rounds the next corner and slides into a pool of flickering amber light, a dishevelled pamphlet blows into him and gets caught on his sleeve. More election related bullshit. Pulling it free reveals the tag line, “A vote for Mustard is a vote for death by starvation and genital mutilation. A vote for Beige is a vote for sticking it to the Mustard guys and big buckets of cash.” The majority of the sheet is taken up by a badly lit photo of what appears to be a desiccated corpse in a tie. The rictus grin on the candidate’s face implies that she’s read about smiling but never seen it in the flesh. Underneath the image it says “Ophelia Winston-Burbage - Blue candidate for Slügstoop South”. There’s no further information.
Mac sighs and mutters, “Same old shit”, before wringing up the paper and tossing it to one side. He turns into a dark doorway, and fumbles in his pocket for a large set of keys. The heavy lock clunks open, and he gives the door a shove before slipping through into the inky darkness. Dim lights splutter to life, illuminating a gloomy room that is cluttered, but clean. He slides to the far corner and descends down a ramp to his basement, flicking a light switch on his way past. A series of strip lights illuminate a vast pile of salt. Mac licks his lips he starts portioning up small paper packets with “plant food” printed on them. Time to make some paper.