Heckled Shift

The day continued on as if it were any other day of the week. I know I complain when things get dreary and dull, but in truth, sometimes a little monotony was good every once in a while.

If every day was exactly like how yesterday was, I'd probably be long-dead somewhere in my early thirties.

Nothing much else happened for a little while there. I tended to a few more customers, swept the floor a little, and by ten Irene had finished with her jotting and scribbling, scooping up an entire mountainous pile of organized papers, before cramming the entire wad into a folder on the empty stool beside her.

"Are detectives always busy this time of year?" I asked, in awe at how easy she made holding that ten-ton folder seem.

"If busy implies playing solitaire from nine to five, sure," She said, briskly downing the rest of her drink. "This is just backlogs of unfinished reports. Since there's nothing much for me to do then I might as well find something to do."