So for the job, I'm sitting outside of Patty Franks with a cheeseburger and fries. The table is one of those really filthy metal grate tables. I’ve got the cheeseburger box to my left, the cards all splayed out in front of me, and a book I just bought on solitaire strategy on the other end of the table. I’ve got a cup of ice weighing down the pages against the wind, and the cards I’m just praying don’t move too much.
   As I’m sitting there, moving the cards around and beginning to understand what I’m actually doing, my mind starts wandering. I’m thinking again: this ain’t so different at all from what I did every day already, you know? Sit around until someone hands you some money. I told myself a lot that my stuff was small business- that if someone was gonna buy, better from me than from some other asshole who doesn’t even care about them. I had morals, I had some small degree of guilt about what I was doing. Didn’t that make it better? For both of us? Someone had to be the nice drug dealer where I was growing up. And I mean, it was hard shit. It wasn’t good stuff to be taking. Isn’t , I should say. But what am I gonna do? Let someone else poison us? Unthinkable. Never a good time to bow out.
   Damn Hermes had me thinking about all that shit. You know, I've always hated to think about that stuff. I used to think of myself as so classy. Back in highschool I wanted to be an architect, studied my ass off, still got terrible grades. I flunked out senior year and never looked back. Well, I looked back a lot, but never went back. Then someone died, then prison, etc.
   And then I realized I had won a game of solitaire. Pretty quickly.
   I looked around for any sign that I had done something. Anything. But there was nothing out of the ordinary at all. Alright. Job done.