43
Across the River
I was going through a phase where I hated my concierge. It would pass. In two weeks or so, I’d be over it, but for now, the sight of his happy face was making my lip curl into a sneer. “Good morning Samuel, how nice to see you, again,” I said. I had noticed concierges didn’t have a good grasp of sarcasm. It didn’t matter how you said it, it was what you said that mattered.
“Hello George, ready for another great day at work?”
“Why yes, that sounds lovely.” If only once he would say that it would be a tedious or needlessly dangerous or remarkably disgusting day at work, the honesty would have been refreshing.
When I got woken, I didn’t think anything other than it was another day, and I was likely going to see King and go to work. There was nothing different in the w
