The exodus is here, The happy ones are near Full
Dostoyevsky intercepted me at Penn Station. We spent three hours in the car, discussing our situation. He doesn't have a clue what's going on. The last he heard, the people involved in this city hall scandal were all subjects of Federal probes. The Feds have city hall completely miked up. It's like a giant recording studio in there. Everyone's a target.
He doesn't know who's at the center of it all. We concluded that it would be best if I got more specific information about the flow in and out of the building. If we knew who was moving with whom, we'd be able to triangulate on the main players. I have a small tape recorder, so I said I'd tape my notes and drop the cassettes off with another guy, who I won't even give a codename for.
We'll call him nameless. I guess that's a codename in and of itself. It's hard keeping a sense of what's real and not real - in terms of names and places - even in a blognovel.
I'm on my way to see Erin. I wish that I had more time to spend with her. I know all of this sounds crazy, maybe I am, but I do know what's real. What's real is that something rotten is happening and I'm going to get it out to people who can do something about it.
That's it for now.
