The man smiles slyly, his grin revealing the thin metal line of an adult retainer gripping his upper teeth. He makes you a bit uncomfortable.
“Why, you are a guest in my home,” he says. With one smooth motion, he waves his hand through the air as if to encompass the entire world. You think you may hate this guy.
“We ride upon the hills of the Internet Super Highway,” he says, his voice rising to an uncomfortably loud volume. “This is a place of inane short stories that either end abruptly or meander on forever; of needlessly cruel essays on opinions questionably formed; of pretentiously complex ‘about the author’ pages; and of poetry as misshapen and horrifying as anything you have ever laid eyes upon.”
With a wink, he leans in close enough for you to smell the combined stench of coffee and peppermint and lack of brushing upon his breath. In barely a whisper, he says, “You are safe here.”
“But,” he adds, the smile returning, “if you wish to leave, you have only but to say the word and you will be transported away.”