A tiny white-haired woman stood there, her mouth one thin line of disapproval. "Well," she said. "Having a good time?"
In Dodd's mind, then and later, the sign began.
That was, as far as he could ever remember, the first second he had even seen it. It was there, behind his eyes, blinking on and off, like a neon sign. Sometimes he paid no attention to it, but it was always there, always telling him the same thing.
This is the end.
This is the end.
This is the end.
He looked into that ancient grim face and the sign began. And from then on it never stopped, never stopped at all—
Until, of course, the end.