“Still black-and-white, sir?” Mister Paunch stared at the TV. Of course, their station worked under a severe budget, and he’d anticipated this, just in case. Still, he’d lost an advantage.

Donny, sadly, never minced words.

“Yeah,” said Donny, scratching his… trousers. “I thought about it, but… Why bother with colour? Shit’s expensive to set up, and if you need a load of glitzy shit-paste, people think you’re hiding bollocks.”

“Yes, sir. Only… I believe colour’s also another medium for expression?”

“Sure it bloody is. Now tell me what you think of [i]this[/i]. Tilton made it himself, the clever bastard!”

Beaming proudly, Donny flourished the remote and turned on the TV.

After a pause, he added, “Well? Tell me what you think. Useable?”

“Yes, sir… Hm… So it’s a man in white outline, on a black background. He’s sitting in a box. There’s a lightbulb over his head, I think? And a cord to pull?”

“And…?”

“And… it’s a diagram of a lift, sir? A thriller, about to reveal a monster in the shadows? A meditation position? The bulb’s a visual pun on enlightenment?” Mister Paunch began to sweat. He didn’t like the look Donny gave him. It was not a look that respected his intelligence, or that believed he had any.

“Fuck, no.”

“Only… it’s holding on that picture awfully long, sir. Is it building suspense?”

Donny groaned irritably. “No, actually. It’s symbolic of the trials of loneliness!”

“Is it, sir?”

“Course it is, dumbass. What, you thought that box was an accident or something?”

“Sorry, sir.” Mister Paunch coughed, trying to do so in a polite manner. “Um, sir? I don’t suppose my view is at least an informative alternative to consid–?”

“Are you considering [i]mine?[/i]”

“[i]Now[/i] I am, sir. Now I know it.”

“Ha! Little late for sucking up.” Donny grinned again. “Seriously? Just admit [i]you’re[/i] too retarded to understand it.”

“Too what, sir?” Mister Paunch wilted. [i]And there it is. The low point of no return. Still: nothing ventured…[/i]

“That’s what I thought.”

“Sir?”

Donny rubbed his hands. “Got something good for me?”

“Hopefully, sir. I wanted to show it in full colour, true, but I hope the original intention shines through –”

“Yeah, I love your bitching enthusiasm and all, but less of the onanism, right? Toss it in and I’ll be the judge, ‘kay?”

With shaking fingers, Mister Paunch set up the film.

They watched it for twelve seconds.

“Of course,” said Mister Paunch hastily, “we use other markers to distinguish the people. The featureless people at the back are, as it were, meant to represent different emotions, simple emotions, to contrast with the main character in the foreground. Her feelings are complex, as is her artwork. I suppose it too is a symbolic representation of the way a suite of hard-to-untangle emotions can isolate you in an oversimplified world of masks –”

“What a waste.” Donny clicked; the TV went off. “It’s just a shit-ton of blah.”

“Uh…” Mister Paunch licked his lips nervously.

“What?”

“You didn’t notice the symbolic –?”

“Look, if you have to explain it ‘cause a person can’t get it first time, it just plain means nothing. How do you expect it’ll fare on ratings? See, your basic TV-watcher isn’t going to rewind, get out pen and paper, try and figure this shit out. It shows up, whoosh, it’s gone. You gotta think realistically.”

Mister Paunch’s jaw dropped.

It quickly went back up for a grimace as Donny scratched a very private area.

[i]God, Donny. Sometimes, you really are just… “crude!”[/i]

But years ago, Donny had been the hero of the station. No one made programs like he did. Then, post-promotion, no one had picked programs like he did. Only, somewhere along the way, no one else could make or pick programs like he did, either. According to him. And him alone.

Mister Paunch stood by his side, nonetheless, long past the point when everyone else had given up and gossiped about him.

Donny knew what they said. He knew he played up the “crude” a bit. And then it went too far the other way, and they forgot who he used to be.

“Paunch?”

“Yes, sir?”

“I’ve reconsidered… yeah…”

“Sir?”

“Get that bastard Tilton in here. He’s due a promotion.”

Mister Paunch shuffled out.

One day, Donny would be his heroic self again. And Mister Paunch would still be standing there when that day came, having never wavered.

He wished that day would come sooner.