You step out into the oppressive, vaguely piss-scented darkness of the Lowtaxian arts quarter and finish locking up the store. You had a feeling this morning that things might change today, but the sun’s set and all you did was avoid eye contact with irritable customers. So. Maybe you’ll die soon. That would be nice.
Sometimes you consider quitting this stupid job, re-enrolling in school, and moving to the Laissez’s Faire neighborhood. Those people all seem so vibrant and passionate about their politics - politics you don’t understand, really, but find yourself relating to, even so. But they would never have you.
