The DNA wasn't alien. That was the joke. The cruel, unfunny joke that had kept Marcus Webb awake for three consecutive nights.
He sat in his apartment in Queens, the glow of three monitors illuminating the half-empty coffee mugs and pizza boxes piled on his desk. At forty-three, Marcus had the posture of a question mark and the skin tone of someone who spent too much time indoors. He worked as a data analyst at NASA's Goddard Space Flight Center, a job that paid the bills and allowed him to obsess, late at night, over...
0 Reacties 0 aandelen 2 Views 0 voorbeeld