You take a ticket and pull into a hopelessly convoluted parking ramp, clearly the brainchild of an alcoholic mind. There is no pattern to how the different levels are arranged, with labels as categorically unrelated as "too," "actually," "delta," "etc." Down ramps lead up. There is a clearance range of anywhere from 4'14" to "infinity" (on the rooftop).
By the time you find an available spot of sufficient girth, you're so anxious to get to work that you lock your keys in the car. What an idiot. You suppose that's what you get for paying to park.
You'll have to keep an eye out for a coat hanger. Time's a wasting. You proceed on foot through the rain and regret.
By the time you find an available spot of sufficient girth, you're so anxious to get to work that you lock your keys in the car. What an idiot. You suppose that's what you get for paying to park.
You'll have to keep an eye out for a coat hanger. Time's a wasting. You proceed on foot through the rain and regret.
...
You guessed it: you work for the Census. It says so on your uniform and on your shoulder bag, and in the bag you have the documents and the badge to prove it. As a result of an oversight, this city slipped beneath the Bureau's radar, and with only three days before the official closing of the census, the Bureau has decided that a simple (but full) head count will have to suffice. You've been guaranteed a steady job with benefits if you succeed. If you fail, it's the bread line for you.
...
 | In your line of work, you need to be organized – never your strong suit, but you lied in the interview. You decide to take a moment to sit and get organized. In a cafe you get a bottomless coffee and a receipt. Your barista(s) is/are a set of Siamese twins, female, attached at the hip. You ask her if they're a residents. "Yes," two voices reply.
But do you count them as one or two? Two heads, one body. This is a question for a philosopher, not a civil servant. Still, a head count is a head count, so you tally them as two. You think back on the other people you have met today. Both give you pause. The salesman – itinerant by virtue of his profession, probably not a resident. The bum – presumably without a residence, moreover an entry in an encyclopedia. You decide not to count either. You hope everyone in this town isn't so ambiguous. |
...
You forgot: coffee makes you crazy. The number of people in the cafe appears to correspond with the volume of coffee you have consumed. Customers are coming out of the woodwork, people so ordinary, so indistinct, that you couldn't hang a description on them, much less a coat. And everyone has the jitters. You feel like a particle in an unstable gas. Conversations become louder and more idiotic. Laughter is too hearty. Mugs shatter. Someone leans too far back in their chair and crashes to the floor. A baby screeches. Some jerk spills scalding coffee in your lap.
You escape with a cursory head count, a minor crotch burn, and a gash in your palm you can't account for. Forty-eight hours left. You're less organized now than before, and more emotional. You'll need eight drinks to settle your nerves. A tavern called A Fool's Errand summons you from across the way.
You escape with a cursory head count, a minor crotch burn, and a gash in your palm you can't account for. Forty-eight hours left. You're less organized now than before, and more emotional. You'll need eight drinks to settle your nerves. A tavern called A Fool's Errand summons you from across the way.
