“Hiya, Eleanor,” he said, rubbing his hands on the front of his thighs as though to clean them.
“How’re you doing today?” Horrifically, he leaned forward as though to embrace me.
I stepped back, but not before I’d had a chance to smell the cigarette smoke and another odor,
something unpleasantly chemical and pungent. I suspected it was an inexpensive brand of gentleman’s cologne.
“Good afternoon, Raymond,” I said. “Shall we go inside?” We took the lift to Ward 7.
Raymond recounted the events of the previous evening to me at tedious length;
he and his friends had apparently “pulled a late one,” whatever that meant,
completing a mission on Grand Theft Auto and then playing poker.
I wasn’t sure why he was telling me this. I certainly hadn’t asked.
He finally finished speaking and then inquired about my evening.
“I conducted some research,” I said, not wishing to sully the experience by recounting it to Raymond.
“Look!” I said. “Ward 7!” Like a child or a small pet, he was easily distracted,
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