13 January 2005 (yesterday) (tomorrow)

Panic is in the air tonight, and the Post Works kitchen smells like burnt popcorn and Pine-Sol.

Apparently a rift has sprung up between Post Works and Post Factory, and Post Works is paranoid that a spy from Post Factory will infiltrate the facility and steal all the dongles. 

I was issued a card so I would be permitted to enter Post Factory.  My card turned out to be a 2 of spades with a Post Works sticker on it that I was instructed to show to Phipps.  Phipps is an older black gentleman with a Caribbean accent and a laconic gaze who sits in a wicker chair 15 feet from the front door with a New York Post on his lap.