It was now five minutes to five. The disc jockey stretched back in his chair, the back creaking under his weight. The record played its song and three minutes passed in a mellow drum and thumping jazz beat, the trumpets occasionally cutting his thoughts in two.
He corrected his sunglasses as the last refrains soared, sustained then faded. He lent over and grabbed the desk mic.
“It’s two minutes to five and the air is alive with electricity no one turned on. The sky is alive with anticipation. Could this be the night? Could this be the night they come? You’re listening to XRR and I’ll be your host for this evening.”
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