The thrill when we meet is so bittersweet
That darling, it’s getting me down
So on your mark get set
Get out of town

As I sing I appraise the mood of the room. It’s self-indulgence, mainly. Someday we’ll rule these soft people. I must get pregnant soon.

The song ends and we go to the bar. Everyone admires me; and why not? I am a prime specimen of the master race, perfect in every way. Damn, some woman’s perfume is making my nose run; I must take an antihistamine. I wonder if the bar stocks himbeergeist. But, that bartender! Never mind, then; I will not use a glass touched by such an inferior race.

I turn and scan the crowd; a blurry lot. I wonder what difference glasses would make. Of course German women are strong and don’t need glasses. I hope DiSibio is ready for our little drama. I pass a scruffy little fellow cowering by a pillar. He’s paying close attention; but where is the reporter?

I glide to DiSibio’s table as slowly as possible, in case a reporter is here somewhere.