You have one foot in the grave… Wow, that thing is at least six feet deep, is one of your legs just super long or something?

I am your host, Q.

Welcome to Night Vale.

Since I last spoke to you, dear listeners, a lot of time has passed, or, perhaps, no time at all, or maybe, even all the time… Either way, James the not-scientist is still here in our lovely little town, and he is still as curious as ever! Eve tells me he's just doing his job as a spy from a vague yet menacing government agency or whatever, but I know better.

In other news, Intern Eve has returned to our time stream! She started Monday morning on time this week, and so far, it seems to be sticking. And since she has returned, I can now continue my dangerous yet satisfying uninterrupted consumption of tea. And Eve knows exactly how I take it. I like my tea, listeners, like I like my nights.

Dark.

Endless.

And impossible to sleep through.

She says that others here in Night Vale have also experienced this strange, altered time dimensions. John Peters, you know, the farmer? He said it's not quite the same as when he was transported time and place during the desert otherworld debacle, and Mayor Cardinal, or former intern Dana as you better know her, has also said things are out of sync, not enough to cause too much trouble, but still just enough to be noticeable. Big Rico claims that pizzas are taking half an hour less to cook, but given that they only take 20 minutes to cook to begin with, he now has to remove the pizzas from the oven 10 minutes before he even puts them in. This has caused some havoc and disgruntlement with customers, because, as you know, no one makes a slice like Big Rico's.

Old Woman Josie reports that the angels have no jurisdiction in this matter, and cannot help us or offer any advice at all.

Thanks, Erika.

Now, a word from our sponsors.

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That was a word from our sponsors.

A lot of you having been asking about Khoshekh, the stray cat that just appeared one day, hovering in a fixed location in the men's bathroom here at the radio station. Well, he has happily settled into living at my apartment, having become de-fixed from his place four feet off the ground during the Strex Corp… incident.

I am happy to announce that he fully recovered from his injuries and has learned to move, eat, and photosynthesise like a normal cat. A normal cat that is missing one eye, part of his paw, and has spine ridges that regularly, inexplicitly, change colour. I think it has something to do with his current mood…

Anyway, it's been some weeks now since he adjusted to life as a house cat, and, dear listeners, he has even given birth to his second adorable litter of kittens! For any listeners wondering how a definitely male cat could give birth to not just one, but two, litters of smaller cats, I say to you that somethings… just aren't meant to be questioned, no matter how many times they occur.

Now listeners, you know me, and you know how greatly and deeply I love my beautiful, beautiful, deadly cat. Well, when I saw this new litter of kittens, and gazed at their cute little faces, full of awe and love even as they shredded my favourite wood-coloured horse radish cardigan, I just couldn't find it in my heart to give them away. I still miss Mixtape, and if I miss that cute little furball, then imagine how badly Khoshekh must miss his own children. I can't just take them away from him again. So... I've decided to keep this litter, for better or for worse, and I've even already named the four little nightmares; Edison, Tesla, Einstein, and Colonel Attenborough the Third, or C.A.T., for short.

I hope James is a cat person. He strikes me as a dog person, dear listeners, but maybe I'll be pleasantly surprised or find out he's both! Or maybe he's a snake person. You can be a snake person if you want to be. Or a hamster person. Or a bear person. Or a wild pygmy sunfish person.

Oh yes! That reminds me:

To whoever or… whatever… that keeps daydreaming about wild pygmy sunfish: Please. Stop. Your imagination is seeping into our reality and it's affecting traffic.

This has been, and will always be, traffic.

Good news! Oh… wait… no.

Listeners, you'll never guess who called me this morning. Go on. Guess. No, not that person… Nope, not them either… Why would they call me… Oh for- did you just- Raoul Silva? Really? No! Ugh, eww, that's just- that's just- no! If Raoul Silva called me, I would decline the call, turn off my phone, remove the battery and government-issued SIM card, and then pour the entire bundle into a large ravine and fill it up with concrete. Any other guesses? No?

Okay, fine. I'll just say it then.

James!

James the Spy, James the not-scientist, James the beautiful and perfect straight-teethed blonde-haired blue-eyed angel!

Metaphorically, of course, since we all know angels don't actually exist.

Well, the first and only time he visited me here at the station, and by me, I mean just the station in general, where I work and therefore had the pleasure of allowing him in through the blood-stoned ritualistic old wooden door… Anyway, the first time he visited, I gave him my personal phone number, and he never called or texted or even emailed me, but I didn't think anything of it, right? I mean, sometimes people just don't call, and that's understandable. Really. It is. And those rumours about perfect James the spy shacking up with Madeline Swann are completely unfounded, okay? That didn't happen and they didn't happen and even if they did that wouldn't affect me in any way at all because-

Well.

Just because.

But, finally, eventually, at last, he rang! James called me this morning and I was so excited I could barely answer the phone! When I did, I paused, took a deep breath, and then said, "Hello?"

"Q?" He replied, and oh dear listeners how my heart soared at the sound of his dulcet tones saying my name.

"Yea" I said, "I'm here".

"I was wondering if I could talk to you" He replied, "And ask you a few more questions? For my research?"

He still believes that everyone here in Night Vale think he's a scientist, and that level of dedication to his job amazes me.

"Sure" I said, obviously, "Do you want to meet up or-?"

And this, listeners, is where my hopes were dashed.

"No, on the phone will work" He said.

I had to stab myself in the leg with one of my paperclip-highlighting-machine-spelling-autocorrect gizmos to keep my voice steady.

"Oh" I replied, sadly, "Okay then, ask away".

And although I was bitterly crushed by the rejection of a meet-up or get-together or, dare I say, date, I was still happy to talk to him. I quite enjoy talking to James. I find it… calming. Secure. Safe, somehow. Almost like-

Oh. Hang on. Urgent update on the time-losing-gaining-stream issue. The City Council has just reached out to me, using the form of a non-corporal ghostly blueish-purple spectre of, what I can only assume, is a mule deer, with the head of a fennec fox and the legs of a Malayan sun bear. Through the… creature's… wide, gaping, mouth, the Council are speaking to me in unison. They're concerned, it seems, about this change of time, and have, in no way, shape, or form, caused it to happen.

Listeners, my phone just buzzed.

Okay Q, you have to wait, it's unprofessional and rude to answer your phone while on the air so… back to the news.

As I was saying, the City Council take no credit for this time-stream issue, and would like to remind our listeners that, once again, Hammers. Are. Forbidden. Unless you have a hammer licence, which currently has a waiting list of… two people! Apply right this second to get a complimentary mechanic drill licence for- oh. oh no. Too late. The second has passed. And now you will never, ever, ever, ever, get that drill licence.

I mean, you could still use drills regardless, if you want to get executed. Or if you're immortal, I guess. Which... is illegal, according to this deer/fox/bear being, who is still hovering a foot above the ground in my recording booth.

So… I guess… just apply for a hammer and drill license? The City Council's creature is nodding emphatically. My phone is still buzzing. Maybe just a quick glance and the screen and-

Listeners.

It's James.

Okay, quickly, just- here, have the weather.

Hey Danny Boy, I was thinking of our crew, but think just makes me sad, and that's why I write to you.

How do you do? There's been years between us, didn't we have big ideas when our school was done?

Those days are gone and my heart is aching, thought I deserved so much more than work could pay.

I guess the damage is done, and there's no way I can fake it, those days are gone, and my heart is breaking.

If this gets to you, I hope it finds you well, there's not much else, out here it's been raining.

Those days are here, and my heart is waiting.

Listeners, dear, dear listeners… James just asked me on a date!

Yes, you heard that right. James. Me. A date! I can't hold back my excitement, listeners, this is incredible and brilliant and oh my gosh I can't wait! He apologised for being so abrupt earlier this morning, and said that he wants to make it up for me by buying me tea! Can you believe it? Tea. He knows me, dear listeners, James the Spy really knows me!

He said he'll pick me up after my shift today, which is in… oh, about 17 minutes or so. 17 long longgg minutes. Okay, let's see. 17 minutes. I can do that. Let's take a look at the community calendar.

Monday has been cancelled.

Tuesday, there'll be a mandatory fire drill. When you hear the sirens, burn as many things as you can!

Wednesday is a lazy day.

Thursday will be foggy, and we all know what that means. Stay inside. For the love of god, stay! Inside!

Friday, there won't be any parade. Nope. No parade here. None. At. All.

Saturday will grow fangs.

And Sunday will be entirely uneventful, until 8pm that night when you suddenly remember all the things you have to do for next week but kept putting off over and over again until now, Sunday, 8pm, and you have so much to do.

Whew. Well, let's take a look… 14 minutes left. Really? Okay, what else is there to report-

My phone just whistled.

It's a text message.

From James!

"Hey, Q, it's me" He says, "Traffic was light-"

Well of course it was, all vehicles recently got fitted with helium balloons, so traffic is now quite literally, light.

Anyway, he continues:

"-so I arrived at the station earlier than expected. I'm happy to wait in reception, but the door won't open".

Oh listeners. Perfect, beautiful, incredible James… seems to be something of an idiot. I keyed his blood into the ruins during his first visit, after all, so he should be able to open it without issue. Let me just reply real quick.

"Of course it will, put your back into it".

... He's typing!

"Why don't you come down here and put your back into it?"

Oh.

Oh my.

Listeners.

Okay, right, well, I better go and… put my back into it.

Also, station management, who we usually refer to using the simple moniker M, has just informed me through a series of growls, malicious laughter, and Morse code, that talking about my personal life and texting on air is unprofessional and should it continue, they'll suspend me. Quite literally. From the ceiling's rotatory fan.

More on this story, aka my date with James, later! Stay tuned next for the lingering painful nostalgia you feel deep in your chest when thinking of your past whether you want to or not.

Goodnight, Night Vale, Goodnight.