[Chris in the backyard, shirtless, black chest hair on alabaster skin, wearing flannel lounge pants where the fly always seems to be wrinkled open, standing at a circular barbecue grill, fanning a single anemic chicken wing with a paper plate]
"Mister King?" calls a voice from around the house.
Chris can't figure out if the voice is real or not. On the off-chance that it is, Chris yells out: "I'm over here."
A man rounds the corner of the house. He's carrying a sample case, bundled in his ams, as if he were a frightened vagrant...and it a collection of his most prized possessions...
"I'm glad I found you! I've got something I want to share with you!" He studies the scene with a 'Where have I seen this before?' look on his face.
"Great! I could use the company. ...Come on in to...[motions with his arm]...my world."
Chris and his visitor sit on those plastic lawn chairs. One has a broken arm. I think our visitor got that one.
"Mister King, there have been some fantastic...al developments in law! I wanted you to see them." Our visitor notices the shotgun leaning against the house. Chris notices him noticing this.
"Oh, you don't have to worry about that. That's just for...the vermin. All kinds of vermin you know... creepin around... Eat out your substance if you're not careful. Always gettin into things, too, where they have no business... But do tell: Whatever is it that you have there?"
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Coming Next:
"Serial: Who is our secret visitor?"
