elaborate studios

Closing Time (Open Starter)

Nestled between an elaborate movie studio and a large shopping district, there was a simple, one-story house in the city of Hollywood. The tiny abode stuck out like a sore thumb against the massive, pristine facades of its big-budget surroundings. Its age was obvious, yet it was well-kept. The paint was only a little chipped, none of the windows were broken, and what little grass there was was neatly trimmed. A sign was nailed to the picket fence out front.

Drake Faulkner, Professional Medium. Hear what the beyond has to say.

On the porch, sitting in an old rocking chair, was a young, average-looking gentleman. A cigarette tucked between his lips, his blue eyes looked this way and that at the many passersby. This early in the evening was kind of slow. All the old, religious folks that usually visited had gone to bed, and the only ones left were the young party-goers. Sadly, none of them seemed to have any interest in listening to the beyond, and the ones that did approach him usually turned out to be skeptics. Not that it bothered him. It was getting close to closing time, about a quarter to seven. Pretty soon he’d head inside and lock up for the night, turn out the lights and let the old house rest for the night.

Then, he’d really go to work.