At 12:01 p.m., Special Agent Xerxes Xavier Jr., 34, begins to rise from behind his cluttered desk in his cramped and overcrowded office inside the J. Edgar Hoover Building at 935 Pennsylvania Avenue, pushing the metal chair away from himself, and the green vinyl seat cushion lets out a thin hisssss! from the depression that he has left behind.-- the first line of my novel, Nothing Is Real but the Girl
