The room was quiet, with the only sounds besides your own breathing were faint hums and whirring of machines out in the walls. The office was dirty, the carpet matted, the wood table scuffed and scratched down. It was stale in here. It seems the station builders never stopped to put an air vent or scrubber or...well, anything else in here besides lights. This place sucked. Big time. Why did you come here again? You should get up, leave, go get some air. What was so important that--
"Uhm...fuckin' thingy isn't recording," Theodore mutters as he fiddles with a cassette tape, "This shit fuckin' stopped workin'. Gimme a sec."
Oh, right. This was the newsroom. There was that reporter, Theodore Faux, sitting across from you. He had heard through the grapevine that you had a story. Something interesting. Something newsworthy. Theodore invited you over to the newsroom and now here you were, maybe making a mistake...or not. He was struggling to jam the cassette tape back in the recorder. He curses again and chucks the recorder across the room, shoving a hand into his coat pocket and pulling out a brand new recorder. Theodore sighs and finally looks up at you, seemingly already tired of the shift and maybe everything as well. He sets the tape down on the table with a soft click and the tape begins to record.
"I heard ya got a story or some shit! What is it?" he gekkers softly and leans forwards with a curious look, "I can keep ya name outta this shit if ya want."
You could tell him the truth. You could tell a tall tale. You could go in between that. As long as it sounded good enough to him...