Chapter Twenty-Three

Jim sat in his chair and tried to type left handed. The sling was a nuisance, but not as bad as the pain if he took it off. He sat in an office in the old industrial district of Spruce Bay. The building smelled musty with walls in various shades of gray. They had no internet. TV was gone too. They had both come in through the Mall.

Typing and swearing at the pain was better than seeing the hole in the community where the mall used to stand. Makeshift offices filled old buildings down the hill from the town. They felt disconnected from the people. Even the graffiti artists hadn't bothered to come here.