It was harder work than Alain had expected. He'd always been pretty good at talking - he'd talked himself into this gig managing the TerrorFractals, hadn't he? - so he'd assumed that that skill would translate easily into finding venues willing to host the band. But it was proving harder than he'd expected.

Perhaps it had something to do with the venues he was contacting: but he wanted to book the band into places that wouldn't normally take them, try to find them a new audience. Nonetheless it was becoming a bit dispiriting, hearing over and over again: "Sorry, we don't have live music."

"Why not? Have you ever thought about it?"

"It's not the vibe we're going for."

"But it's Melbourne! Everyone has live bands."

"Not us. We like to focus more on the restaurant side of things."

"They're pretty quiet. They won't disturb your customers. They'll enhance the atmosphere."

"What are they called?"

"The TerrorFractals."

"I don't think so."

Click.

It was dispiriting. In his weaker moments Alain sometimes wondered if he was in the right line of work - and it'd only been two weeks! But the band was pressing him for results, they were itching to get some more gigs lined up. Alain could feel it. He could feel it every time Mal ran up and asked: "Any more gigs lined up?"

"Mate, it's only days away. I'm just trying to build up some excitement in the market, get them fighting over you."

But it wasn't. He wasn't. And it was looking increasingly like they weren't going to. Fortunately the band at least had a few gigs they'd lined up earlier, before Alain had become their manager. But he just couldn't for the life of him understand the lack of excitement among the people he contacted about the band - hadn't any of them heard the band's song? Hadn't any of them bought the 8-Point Records compilation? Alain hadn't, true - but it wasn't his type of music. He wouldn't expect him to know about the band. But he was just the manager: he didn't own a venue. It wasn't his responsibility to keep his finger on the pulse of the local music scene.

"We're a jazz club."

"The 'Fractals love jazz!"

Click.

Maybe there were just too many bands in this city, all looking for gigs. All of them worse than the TerrorFractals, of course, that went without saying - though Alain did say it, loud and long, whenever he got the chance. Even in casual conversation. He was starting to get a bit desperate: he couldn't bear it if he got fired from this job. It would be humiliating. Hadn't Eric said something about conditions? Maybe it wasn't too late to go back and ask him about it. That wouldn't look too much like admitting defeat, would it? Alain just didn't know. He opened the 'phone book again, dialled another number.

"We're actually closing on Thursday."

"What better way to go out?"

Click.

It was dispiriting.