“Wait, I have so many questions. You’re a real cop?”“Yes ‘mam,” he said, wrapping a tired arm around my shoulder.“How do you afford that...house?”“When my parents died, they left me a lot of money. Instead of just retiring, I thought I’d use my privilege to help others.”“So, like, you donate?”“No, I just put most of it into some solid investments, got myself a nice place and live off the interest, mostly. Since I don’t have to work, I thought I’d do something to help. Being a cop was what I chose. I tried to ignore the sounds — the snores of those who had gone to sleep on the benches, with their cloaks as blankets if they had them, the heavy breathing and the loud or muted sounds of pleasure or pain from those who occupied benches but slept not, the drunken laughter and the sudden curses from the tables were cards or dice were played, the occasional shouts for more beer or wine — the pub catered to both tastes — and among all those sounds, I dimly heard the voice of the story-teller. I. More

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