Frankie is sitting in his dark kitchen, drinking stale coffee out of his unwashed thermos while waiting for his wife’s best friend to pick up the goddamn phone. He’s learned the hard way not to count on Rolando, not after he disastrously forgot the rings for Frankie’s wedding and didn’t realize it until the ceremony was already underway. But did Gloria blame her best friend who probably wanted to ruin the wedding because of feelings he still has for her? Of course not. Frankie got chewed out for not checking in with Rolando sooner, as if he didn’t have a million other duties assigned by her. But Rolando finally has a purpose in life, and that’s working as a Death-Cast herald to tell people they’re about to die.

Until it’s all revealed to be a scam, that is.

Frankie has too many doubts about Death-Cast to register himself or his family for their services; the government already has too much information about them anyway. Things they shouldn’t even know. But Frankie isn’t an idiot. He knows there’s money to be made here by photographing these so-called Deckers in the event they do die. The best part? Getting personal intel from Rolando.

If he ever answers the phone.

The photo series could be what truly defines Frankie’s life. He’s not good at a lot of things. Take this coffee for example. Absolute shit. But that’s fine, he’s not some mindless barista who lives to serve the whims of those wanting frosty cappuccinos with three—not two, not two and a half, not two and three-quarters—pumps of caramel syrup. Frankie can’t make a cup of coffee, but he can take beautiful pictures. His newest tenant, Valentino, got suckered into putting down a deposit on the apartment because of Frankie’s misleading photos on Craigslist.

That’s talent!

It’s time for Frankie to achieve his dreams of winning a Pulitzer for Breaking News Photography, and he’s positive he’ll do so for his work on this historic End Day. He’ll either capture the first Death-Cast deaths or the relief on a Decker’s face after they survive the day.

Frankie’s leg bounces, his knee banging into the bottom of the table.

It’s as if his soul is itching with how badly he wants to be out in the world and getting pictures already.