The stage is all set up for your performance. Feels... silent. You can hear the pellets…

A voice from the back squeaks something. It's definitely laughter.

Someone walks out of the room -- by the front door. Some woman. Is it because of you?

Just stand there.

"That's it, I'm unplugging it." He presses stop on the tape carousel. You hear a little whine of feedback and then the mic dies in your hand.

That's it. You're unpowered.

"Let's go, officer." The lieutenant closes his notes. "These people wouldn't know a good performance if it bit them in the ass."

"You... liked it?"

"Yes," he bows lightly. "It was downright tragic, detective."

I mean it, he thinks.

To him, being a cop in the RCM was truly expressed in that performance.

[Put down the mic.]

"I SANG ABOUT HOW I FEEL! Fuck all you, scum!"

"You don't know what good singing is! This is real singing. I sang about real stuff."

Say: "You didn't like it, huh?"

Your words echo in the karaoke mic. People talk in the distance. A couple tries not to look at you.

"Quit yellin' into the mic!" You hear from the Union booth.

"I'm up here singing my fucking HEART OUT and it's not good enough for you fuckers!?"

You hear -- or think you hear -- uncomfortable shifting around. A bit of laughter, maybe? No one's saying anything.

"Uhm... I'm gonna unplug the mic now, okay?"

Your words echo in the karaoke mic. They sound sparse. The room is almost empty.

Do you hear that? The most pathetic applause in the world. Made of pity. No one liked you -- they think you're a joke.

Did you hear that? The most pathetic applause in the world. Made of pity. No matter the time of day, or how small the audience -- this is a pitiful applause.

"I would often go there. To the tiny church there. The smallest church in Saint-Saëns -- though it once was larger. How the rill may rest there. Down through the mist there. Toward the seven sisters -- toward those pale cliffs there I would often stay there. In the tiny yard there. I have been so glad here -- looking forward to the past here But now you are alone. None of this matters at all."

The air is thick with anticipation.

The tape clicks into the carousel and then the music starts... God, a lump's in your throat suddenly...

[Leave.]

"Look, Kim, I'm going to sing karaoke!"

"I can see that." The lieutenant steps away from the stage, ready for your performance.

"No, you're not. The bills, remember?"

Put your lips against the microphone -- test it.

Immediately a loud feedback noise startles the room. You feel like an amateur. How are you supposed to hold the mic? Should you just sing into it? Where should you stand?

Hands... Where do you put your hands?!

Does someone feel like throwing up? I do. A little.

"What are you doing? I told you it was for customers only. I'm not turning on the karaoke carousel unless you pay your bills."

He's not backing up from this. Standing up here is merely a practice run without paying him first.