It’s 8:30pm. I’m sleeping because all the overtime I work to pay down my student loans nine years early has the unfortunate side effect of occasionally requiring me to live on four hours of sleep. My phone rings with a phone number I don’t recognize.
That’s Grantville. I don’t know anyone in Grantville, let alone anyone with that number, so I let it go to voicemail. A few minutes later my voicemail alert goes off. It can’t be a wrong number; who would call a wrong number and, after hearing the name in the greeting, leave a message? And a two-minute message at that?
It was Hollywood Casino.