Compliments to a book that manages to combine so many loathsome features of modern fic in one package. Ukulele chicks, New York City, a chestless, needy manlette of no moral foundation nor fortitude as protagonist, an utter lack of character development, banal antagonists who pose no threat or even impediment to the protagonist. A lazily written chore to listen through. Anime Ellicott does her best with what she’s handed, which is to a coo & preen in various voices over a paper-thin stand-in for a core audience listener who I can only guess is assumed to be a Bernie-Bro hipster shut-in who’s never played a game more challenging than Pokemon Go.