Friday Challenge

Okay, the way this works is, I spot you the opening of a story, and your challenge, should you decide to accept it, is to pick it up and run with it. Ready? Then here's the wind-up, and the pitch:

The writing was as usual going nowhere, so Kevin decided to take a break from his latest attempted story and check his email. He felt the briefest surge of pulse-pounding excitement when he saw that there was something in his Inbox claiming to be a personal message from Glen Price, the editor-in-chief of Stupefying Stories magazine --

But then he opened the message, and once again felt the familiar cold and soggy splat of disappointment, as he read those all-too-familiar words: "Dear Contributor, We regret to inform you that your submission does not meet..."

"Damn!" Kevin slammed a fist down on his desk with a violence that sent his mouse bouncing and nearly spilled Diet Coke all over his keyboard. "Just what does it take to make your first sale? I mean, I swear, I would sell my soul, if I really believed I had one!"

That's when the voice behind him spoke up, in a timbre like long fingernails on a chalkboard. "As a matter of fact, you don't. You're a white Republican from the Midwest. You have no soul, and no sense of rhythm, either.

"But what else might you have to bargain with?"