103.2 \ 295

A ground car rolled up to the smoothie bar, a comfortable luxury model. The Hoopoe had this feeling like he knew who it was, though he hadn’t been expecting anyone. He’d just handed back the phone.

Someone stepped out of the back of the car on this side, an athletic man with long brown hair tied back at the nape of his neck. Dressed casually but well, he placed a pair of shades on his face and walked towards the board-built establishment. He waved at the Hoopoe as though they were friends. The Hoopoe guessed that they might be.

Strolling up to the young man, the new arrival stuck out his hand. “The Hoopoe?” he asked to verify.

“Why do you ask?” he replied, shaking the offered hand.

“I’m your boss. Ravl Pliskin. This is your performance review.” The young musician paused in confusion. Was there more on the table after this? The Hoopoe sort of hoped not, and it showed on his face. Pliskin cracked up a little. “Really though, I just thought that you deserved a face-to-face progress wrap-up. So I made the time.” He looked around and waved at Lola at the counter.

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