Miles Johnson performed his best show to a crowd of exactly no one. His bow danced over the strings of his cello inside the sound-proof radio booth, while two technicians outside worked frantically.
“The mikes aren’t picking anything up. We’re broadcasting nothing but dead air,” shouted one technician at the other.
“Throw it to commercials,” instructed the producer from the back of the room. “We can’t have silence.”
A jingle for cat food began, while Miles was informed that he’d have to begin again.