‘Yeah? Bat? Can you hear me?’
‘Loud and clear, lady, you’re the first caller to Bat Segundo’s End of Time Show, and very probably its last!’
‘I’m a big fan of your show, Bat. I’m listening on my transistor radio, while the batteries hold out. Don’t think nobody ain’t listening, Bat, ’cos that ain’t so. You’re on quiet-like all through the night. The songs help my daughter back to sleep. She’s had nightmares of late.’
‘...I’m glad I’m not alone.’
‘You’ll keep playing songs soft’n’tender-like, so she’s not so scared if she wakes up?’
‘Okay, for sure. What’s your name, sweetheart?’
‘Jolene.’
‘Pretty name, Jolene. Are your folks Dolly Parton fans?’
‘Never knew ’em.’
‘Uh-huh... and your daughter? What’s her name?’
‘Belle.’
‘You and Belle doing okay?’
‘Guess so... there was a lot of noise outside... the riot police are out. There were some guns earlier, and tear gas. It’s died down since the snow’s gotten thicker.’
‘Where you calling from, Jolene?’
‘Lower Manhattan. Bat, could I say a message?’
‘Sure you could.’
‘It’s to Alfonso, I ain’t seen him for three days now. He went out to get some supplies... Alfonso, if you’re listening, you just get yourself on home, y’hear? And Bat?’
‘Jolene?’
‘When the next song’s playing, will you make yourself a coffee and start sobering up some?’
‘...Uh-huh. I’ll do that, Jolene.’
‘And I’d sure be obliged if you’d stop talking ’bout the end of the world, Bat. It don’t help none. Other than army buttheads telling us to stay calm, you’re the only voice on the dial, and most probably you’re propping up more people than you think.’
‘...Uh-huh, Jolene, will do...’
‘We are aboard Night Train FM, 97.8 ’til... whenever circumstances well beyond our control prevent me transmitting. We’re coming up to the 4 o’clock weather report. Give me a moment here, folks, our usual weatherman was last heard of stuck in the traffic under the Hudson River Tunnel three days ago, heading out Pennsylvaniawards. Well, the mercury has fallen to thirteen degrees Fahrenheit. If you’re in a power-rationing district, stay under your blankets and don’t come out. Looking out of my window here twenty-eight storeys up, the snow is getting snowier. An hour ago it was itzy-bitzy stonethrown snow. Something pretty big was burning near by. Now the snow is big-flaked dying-swan snow, and burying everything... I can’t see anything out there... I know most of New York’s phones have been down for two days, but if any of our regular callers are out there, then feel free to call... snow and insanity, I think it’s safe to say that remains a topic undone. Snow is mighty mesmerising stuff... you look, you look, and suddenly you’re in a canoe, canoeing up a waterfall of snow, blind white moths diving at your windshield. Which is when, Bat, you know it’s time to pull down the blind, and knock back some more coffee! Coming up we have—’
‘Sorry folks, the back-up generator dipped down for a moment. Coming up we have Aretha Franklin giving us “Say A Little Prayer for You”, dedicated to Jolene, Belle, and Alfonso, somewhere in Brooklyn... Did I ever tell you about the time I met Aretha in the glass-eye showroom on Jackson Avenue? Not many people know this, but amongst specialist juggling circles, Aretha is — put that anecdote on hold, Bat! The Batphone is flashing—’ ‘Hello, Bat.’