Where the hell is Elton? A second ago, you were both standing in line to get in, but the theurge has disappeared. Aren't Brits supposed to be good at queuing? A wall of sound from inside the barn rattles your tall boots: screaming guitars and a vocalist who sounds like he's getting flayed alive.
"Right this way, Mr. Gorsky," you hear a security guard say. You turn and see your boss from the groundskeeping job, whom you've never actually met before. He's stepping around you and the others in line with an expression of distaste on his pale face, led by a tall man in a Hog Throne t-shirt. Mr. Gorsky stops when he sees you, dark eyes boring into yours. He obviously recognizes you. You take the opportunity to look your employer up and down.
Pallid skin, unmoving expression, clothes decades out of date. A vile stench, worse than an open grave. And as his eyes bore into yours…Great Gaia, you know exactly what you're looking at.
A hippie.
"Good evening, Mister November," Mr. Gorsky says, stopping as he's led past the line. "What a pleasure to see you out and about. I trust you will not exhaust yourself tonight and find yourself unable to work when the sun rises."
I don't need my boss thinking too much about me. "Certainly not, sir."
"Hey man, it's not very 'groovy' to cut in line." Or pay everyone at Gorsky Manor below minimum wage.
"I exhaust myself at work, actually, and I've been looking for a raise."
Something weird about this guy. "How come you're twenty-five but you're dressed like you want to piss off Nixon?"
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"You know, Mister November, I have seen fortunes rise and fall many times in my life, and I would like to offer you some advice: no one ever got rich on a salary. The secret to wealth, young man, has always been property."
"Can you give me some property?" you ask.
"No, but I have given you advice," he says. "Please use it as well as you can! And quickly. You think you're young now, but soon enough, you'll be living at Gorsky Manor, not just working there."
He nods, as if he's done you an extraordinary favor, then glides past the line and walks inside.
Soon you'll be living at his manor? What the hell was he talking about? Probably a Hendrix lyric or something, hippies are weird. Anyway, you finally reach the front of the line and pay your $5 to get in.
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