Oscar was sitting behind his desk, as always, shredding some papers that Max wanted gone. Oscar had glanced at the top one when True handed it to him it was just some rubbish about Raspberry Dawns that he figured Max decided against as a material so he didn't bother reading through it.

Sometimes Oscar had to wonder about the eccentricities of his boss sometimes he couldn't help but wonder if someone as brilliant as Max could be that out of it; His musings were interrupted, however, when he heard the elevator stop.

He watched the doors slide open to see a man with a cane stumble out. There was no other way to describe his gait his right foot was perfectly able to take his weight but as soon as he put his left foot on the ground he crumbled: his foot rolled his shoulder strained with the struggle to keep his ass off the floor he seemed to grow and shrink with every step he took. His right stride full of confidence that comes from being in front of crowds for a life time but his left step a stumbling child just learning to walk. Oscar wondered why he had that confidence with his left but not his right. The man was more dressed than just with a cane: he had longish brown hair that fell just above his eye (on anyone else Oscar might have called it 'Beiber Hair') he wore a red shirt with some sort of graphic on it and dark jeans. The second most striking thing about him – after the cane – was his eyes, or rather the lack of them, he had dark sunglasses on the bridge of his noes the kind that wrapped around a person's face close to the skin. Why he was wearing them inside the building was beyond Oscar. But things like that weren't in Oscar's job description: greeting people was so he smiled and said: "Welcome to Mad Styles, how can I help you?" or he would have but he only got as far as "wel-" before the stranger cut him off.

"This is a nice place… much nicer then Gr—your boss's place in London. Why do people think that taller buildings are better?" His head, which had been pointed toward the window, twisted to Oscar, "Hello there! Is your boss in? He's an old friend of mine. We met back when he was living in London. But that's not important right now, is he about?"

To say that Oscar was surprised by the man's outburst would be a lie. He worked for some very eccentric people after all. What had him looking slightly wide-eyed was the stranger's accent. The man was Australian. Lulu had told him about the strange Aussie singer with bright orange hair. But this couldn't be him: he had brown hair – and he didn't look much like a singer. "Ah Mr. Madigan is in a meeting right now, if you could give me your name I will let him know that you're waiting. Who would you like me to say is asking for him?" Oscar indicated the lime green chair set.

"Very good, very good, you can tell him 'Doug Anthony is in the building' just that 'Doug Anthony is in the building' there are only three of us so he should be able to figure out who I am." The dark shades cast about for a moment, "Or you could say 'Fergy has arrived' but one or the other: both will give it away to quick!" A cheeky grin crossed his face as he said that.

Oscar frowned slightly, him not being fond of lying – even if he didn't know the truth. "Well alright Mister Anthony if you could please take a seat over there I will let him know." The man glanced at the seats but stumbled over to the window instead.

"Wonderful view you've got here." He commented as Oscar fired off a message to his boss, "you ought to ask to turn your desk around. I haven't seen …your boss in about ten years but unless he changed completely he'd let you do it. He always hated 'The Man'. All the times him and Paul used to go out drinking together. Me and Rich too really, but it was those two who really stuck the boot in it." Oscar was fascinated. He had never heard so much about his boss's past before (Oscar didn't even know that he had lived in London!) the man behind the desk had always assumed that Max grew up in the lap of luxury somewhere in upper-middleclass America. Instead he lived in London at some point? And knew at least two Australians? Oscar thought it might be time to look deeper into his boss's past.

Oscar hadn't noticed but the stranger had maneuvered himself into the one place in the room that Max wouldn't be able to see from the hall. "Oscar you said that one of the Doug Ants is here," came the reprimanding tone from the hall.

"Yes sir, he's by the window sir," was Oscar's hurried reply. As he was saying it the 'Doug Ant' was stumbling up behind him. He could hear his cane thumping gently on the linoleum floor.

Oscar, who was watching, saw Max freeze for a minute his foot stumbled and his eyes grew wide. He recovered so fast that Oscar couldn't help but wonder if he had imagined it all.

"Tim Ferguson! What are you doing here? Better question: what are you doing in America? It's February, don't you have classes starting this month?" that just made Oscar all the more confused really confused: this weird man was a teacher? And what schools start in February of all months for that matter.

Timothy pulled off his sunglasses showing off bright blue eyes framed by faint laughing lines, "I'm giving some lectures at the American Academy of Dramatic Arts and Columbia University. I'm not well known enough to preform here but the schools get along well enough for me to spend a bit of time hanging out in NYC. Who wouldn't take that?" he grinned cheekily again. "I think you should introduce me to your assistant. Minchin seems to think you only employ kids." He and Max laughed at that.

Max walked finished up his walk into the room and right into Tim's open arm. "Oscar this is my dear old friend Tim, Tim this is my poor put-up-on assistant Oscar. There that's done, let's go talk somewhere for lunch." The two linked arms and walked slowly toward the elevator, Max half supporting Tim. Oscar glanced at the clock: 9:34pm awful late for lunch. As the elevator doors slid shut he heard this and had no clue what to make of it:

Tim: Grego! How can you stand this place?! It's so not you.

Max: I know Tim. My only escape is the podcast. I can't even really do any shows these days. Only until True can take over for good…

As the elevator slid shut Oscar did a google search for Tim Ferguson and was surprised to find out that the man that just left was a vulgar singing comedian turned narrative comedy professor. Oscar disapproved of his music.

Fin~