They say you shouldn't sleep where you work. I don't, I just sleep next door to where I work. Building's zoned for residential, but I pay rent more or less on the regular. Still better than most everyone else in here. Super gives me a break, but I think he's keeping me around just so he can throw me out one night, big smile on his face when he does it.
If you come in, first thing you're gonna see is Dara sitting at the big desk with her computer. I got the small desk to the right cause the light from the window helps me read the paper. Setup like that, most people come in, can't figure out why the looker redhead is doing the detective thing. “Tracy” on the front door doesn't help.
Throws a lotta people off. These days, I let them talk to her first a little bit, before introducing myself. Amazing how many slobs can't deal with a pretty face, just let themselves get stupid. Most of the time, after they leave, we try to figure out what the real story is. If you're coming here, there's the story you tell us, then there's the truth. They're like trains passing each other, except that when the lies and the truth meet, there's a train wreck.
Two kinds of people come here. You got the poor, can't go anywhere else cause they can't afford to, I'm their last hope. They mean well, but some of them treat me like dirt, because they been stepped on their whole lives, so they need me just to feel a little better.
Then you got your Richie Riches, their watches worth more than I make in a year. They got something to hide, from the authorities, from their family, from themselves, so they come to me. Thing is, like the poor, I'm their last hope. They also mean well, but some of them are just used to stepping on everyone didn't grow up with a silver spoon in their mouths and a funny accent from up north.
That's what I'm here for. Good to know I can help.
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