You track him down

“You sure don’t look like a Zebulon.” You say, catching the young man’s attenton. Maybe “man” is too strong a word. The youth isn't too much older than Penelope. A grade-skipper, then?

“That’s your opinion.” Zebulon replies.

“Oh, I actually knew a guy named Zebulon once.” You say, intrigued rather than daunted by the youth’s firey nature. “He dated my sister in between stays at the county jail. Knocked her up just before he went to the state pen. Anyway, that’s neither here nor there. My name’s Victor Phillips. I read your article, ‘Programming Evil.’ Powerful stuff, that.”

“You could just send fanmail.” Zebulon suggests.

“Actually, I wanted to ask if you would be willing to be a very young John Stossel for a TV station in Waco.”

“Wow, liked me THAT much, did you?” Zebulon asks, quirking a smile. “A lot of my pieces get pulled because of stuff like that, you know.”

“I understand completely.” You reply. “A lot of people can’t handle the truth, especially if it’s about themselves or a sponsor.”

“And here you’re willing to take the Eminem of journalism under your wing?” Zebulon asks.

“Well, Zeb—can I call you Zeb?—it’s like this, okay: the station’s getting ready to flush the lazy element out of its system, and we’re looking for people with a good work ethic to fill the void...”

“Is my age going to be an issue?” Zeb asks.

“How old are you?”

“Almost eighteen.”