"When he showed up at The Mistress again, I knew I would know him for a long time. Perhaps, he could become a regular."
On the screen, Les Vigne welcomed The Photographer as he walked in through the door of the pub.
"I inquired about his living arrangements, and he informed me about the place he had rented. It was a small, filthy apartment on a street at the edge of The Outskirts."
The bartender added a plate of fried potato wedges to his order.
"On the house," he said.
"He hadn't yet found a job, so I recommended him to collect junk while he searched for one."
The Photographer looked up from his plate. "Does it pay well?"
"Depends. Paper compensates well. Metal not so much. Wood is the best."
"And where would I find this junk?"
"Anywhere, really."
"The streets of the ground floor weren't known for their cleanliness. And considering where he lived, I knew he would not have a hard time diving into trash."
