He licks his lips. He only does that when he’s nervous. He’d like you to know that.
It’s the first time he’s doing something like this. He tells you at length about how he’s only doing it for the paycheck. He’d like you to know that. It’s just the money.
His eye keeps moving to the cadaver next to him and then away. He tries to concentrate on his buttered toast as he talks to you.
Lifestreaming is an odd business, he tells you. You get boring, you get dead. There had to be something novel. Something that you, sitting at home, hadn’t seen before. And there were so few things left.
There’s a signal from behind the camera, and he gets up, seemingly reluctant. But such is life, he says. He hopes that’ll raise a chuckle.
He is naked. And once he removes the sheet covering it, so is the corpse.
They start playing snippets of his introductory speech. He had been standing on the edge of a fathomless precipice. Any way was down. He could have chosen hunger. He chose necrophilia. Hunger is a difficult choice, the voiceover reminds you.
The more observant among you will realise they are trying to play it as a tragedy. A wise choice, at least for the first time.
They could tell you this is all for you, but they know the ratings will be through the roof, and all of you, oh, so many of you, will need your detached sense of superiority. How could they do that to you?