The other components of narrative structure had to be developed in territories like Reno because that type of component couldn't be fully developed in a city like New York. Full control of the region was required in order to serve a narrative that could later supplement things like generative AI or a residential space. In a data driven environment you had to learn to think in terms of components. That was how I began to think about Fentanyl. 

"Are you suggesting that there's a component to Fentanyl that is prescribed?" I asked a pharmacist at the CVS counter. It was the CVS at Legends Mall in Sparks. I looked at her name tag, "Jane?" She was happy to suggest that it was so. I needed to check the facts and confirm as well that I hadn't been elected the poster child for some sleazy crypto startup. I had been taken by ambulance less than two years prior at the freeway entrance adjacent to SCHEELS and across the parking lot from where I now stood discussing Fentanyl with Jane. 

I had an interview at a local newsroom the next day for a photojournalist role and I knew if I had something to talk about, something like the Fentanyl crisis, I might stand out as an applicant. But Jane was of little help. Suggestions were everywhere in Reno. My accident didn't necessarily make me a full fledged, trauma case but I did have an uncomfortably close encounter with death. EMS told me my blood pressure was dropping. EMS also told me that they had administered a dose of Fentanyl. 

"Can you show me this component?" I really wanted to see it on paper. Or at least an algorithm. 

"Jane, this report states, 'Domestic production of illicit fentanyl and other synthetic adulterants'," I cited a report hoping to get anything that resembled a fact. "Where does domestic production take place exactly?" I was immediately prompted by an image of Jurassic Park. Jane was approached by a customer and I ended the interview early.  

Chris saw me leaving the outlet and chased me down. "I heard you have an interview with KTVN?" Chris was by far the most talented and prolific journalist on the local scene. He was a Reynolds School graduate and knew every report, reporter and newsroom demographic from any year on any and all content at any station. "Why aren't you working there?" I asked every time I encountered him. His response was always the same. "It's really hard to get in there". He went on to explain that Kyle Lowder was a huge star on Days of Our Lives and was now their morning anchor.

"You interviewed Trump at least," he said. He must have seen my YouTube reel.

"I didn't interview Trump. I attended and recorded a Trump election rally. I just superimposed nat sounds over his speech." Suggesting to have interviewed Trump was not interviewing Trump and was also unethical. I had removed the reel. "I saw on NBC that Trump wanted answers on the Fentanyl crisis," I confessed. “I tried to talk to the pharmacist. I'm unprepared".

I thought that someone in the pipeline must have paid Chris to try to prep me for my interview the following day. Nobody in Reno ever talked to me and when they did it was usually a friend of a friend from Bombay cinema or from 80s distribution channels.  

I did want Jane to know that the CARS section of the MCAT did not mean a literal car. I looked around the Legends parking lot. I could see their smiling faces as clearly as I could see the sun setting on the horizon. Carson City was the state's capital and it was a serious matter. "Did you notice the gender bias among the local cars?" I pointed to a truck sitting in the parking space next to mine. It was clear that the local pickups had a gender identity. Trailer hitches were everywhere.  

I checked my forehead for a temperature. True to form and broadcast television. I felt sick. The way being in the middle of the desert made you feel sick and those around you sick as well. It was a sickness that you had to see in order for it to resonate and would be almost impossible to explain. But I could point. 

Chris was a local. He knew when to keep his eyes closed and his ears shut. He still wore a COVID mask three years later. He pulled it over his mouth and nose. "I've got to run." He waved the way a paid messenger waves goodbye. Without friendship nor compassion. "Goodbye," I responded as I snapped a shot of the rear of a vehicle with my Motorola.This was where the fun stopped.  

Medical aid in dying was a popular component. As was the constant reminder that you were outnumbered. Particularly in the I-80 military parade. The word dangerous was an understatement by the UNR sports complex and home of the local PBS station. 

As if they were Burgess' malchicks--among other characterizations and programmed into broadcast production for a century. "And I went out with loving smiles all round."

I stood and surveyed the Legends property parking lot and scanned the nearby surroundings. 

"Let's get things nice and sparkling clear. This sarcasm, if I may call it such, does not become you, O my little friends. Perhaps you have been having a bit of a quiet govoreet behind my back, marking your own little jokes and such-like. As I am your droog and leader, surely I am entitled to know what goes on, eh?"