As the hall filled I fidgeted backstage, uncomfortable in my ceremonial clothing. I would have preferred to wear a simple white stretch suit instead of the cowboy outfit Alanna had insisted upon, but she had been adamant. “Jeans and a work shirt,” she had said. “For continuity.” She even attempted to convince me to grow a beard but there I held firm against her. The hall was filled to the brim with true believers: standing room only against the blue and purple paneled walls. Doubt welled up in my chest as I listened to the crowd chattering. “We’re ready,” Alanna whispered. “Get started.” Feeling like some foolish imposter I clomped my way out to the podium. The heavy brown cowboy boots I wore felt uncomfortable and foreign. There were five hundred seats in the room and every one held a devotee of Better World. Each person sat there, sad, expectant, hopeful, uncertain. Occasionally in the sea of eyes I saw mutant gold glimmering. For one long moment I looked at them and they at me.
