Jimmy hated the joyless smiles of social worker types. Tina, according to her name plaque, had a desk busy with pictures of smiley half toothed children as chubby faced as herself. The cubicle walls were covered in post-its and incomprehensible spread sheet data. He waited in that awkward silence as she typed in his information, or whatever she was doing. The v cut dip in her blouse revealed a little cleavage and despite his lack of attraction or desire, his eyes caught it. As shriveled and unwanted now as the skin on gravy lost too long in the back of the fridge. Had anything joyful ever happened there? She was a younger woman once, right? He tried to picture Tina young, genuine in her happiness, breasts significantly less similar in shape and behavior to a wind sock. But this is what life does...

"Okay, Mr. Miller," she said turning towards him. Oh god, he hoped she hadn't seen his eyes resting there. "We have an opening at General Techtronics as a custodial assistant." She pursed her lips in an apologetic smile.

Jimmy frowned and scratched at his stubbly face. "What does that mean, custodial assistant? What, am I organizing a day planner?" He didn't mean to snark at this woman he knew was only trying to help him and who probably believed on some level in the goodness of her job. Surely she wasn't doing it because this was what she'd dreamed of since she was a child. Her job was proof that hardly anyone gets that, but this would be his third try with their temp agency.

"It's a janitorial position, James." She waited for his inevitable small laugh of disappointment. "With your skill set and the felony in this market, this is a good opportunity. GT regularly promotes from within. Maybe if you do a really good job, they'll keep you on. Obviously I can't guarantee that. They won't do unemployment. There is a lot of paperwork, including non-disclosures, a probationary.."

"A non-disclosure for a janitor position?" Jimmy scrunched his face up, and then thought better of it, figuring he was probably difficult enough to look at as it was.

She waved this off, wagging her lady jowls at him. "It's just a liability thing against industrial espionage. Selling secrets, leaking to the press before official releases, you know. Also,they do drug test."

He bit at his lip nervously, feeling the rough skin where he'd bitten it too much before. "I mean.. what really do they test for?"

She sighed knowingly. "Everything, just a full panel."

He leaned in, whispering conspiratorially. "I mean, I did have one joint, but it was a while ago. That's all. I don't do drugs."

She looked back at the computer screen observing nothing. "How long ago?"

He shifted in his plastic chair trying to keep his leg from going numb. "I want to say at least two weeks ago." Fifteen days ago. He saw it as the ax which hacked at the branches of his anxiety, and he could already feel its tendrils growing back into a stranglehold. Ah, for even one pinner. But now they'll be the stress of a shit job which opposed one of his few forms of successful stress relief. This was probably still preferable and less stressful than the same monthly bills and no job, though.

She stared on into the oblivion of a computer that probably still ran Windows Vista. "That's probably fine. They won't comp the tests. You have to pay for that out of pocket. You'll need to sign and fill these out. The hospital address is on the medical forms." She handed him a daunting stack of paper, yellow highlighted in the appropriate regions, with the two forms of ID he'd given them to photocopy on top.

After a long lobby limbo of redundantly filling out the same information on a hundred different forms and handing them back to the dead eyed woman he saw coming in, Jimmy stepped outside to fish in his pocket for a pack of smokes he promptly remembered no longer existed. The cold bit at his lungs as he sucked it in, offering him solace in the fact that some remnant of those cigarettes would be with him always.

A gruff slurred voice barked from behind him as he felt a hard jut in his back. "DON'T fucking turn around if you want to live. Give me your god damn wallet!"

It wasn't fear that shot through him. It was enough anger to scare him into not acting and getting himself killed. The desire to slap whoever this asshole was in the face was strong. Who would do this to someone already in need? To take his wallet could be as deadly as shooting him anyway in his situation. This was an irrational person. There was no logical reason to shoot him, so wouldn't any illogical reason do no matter what he did? Why not try? He might die, but how great was life? Maybe it was worth it to die to take the chance of not letting people who thought it was okay to do this get away with it. Was that a world worth living in? He hadn't thought so in a long time...

He felt a hard metal jam against his head. "NOW! Motherfucker, you think I'm playing!?"

All that thinking went away. His hand seemed to move of its own accord, and seconds later footsteps indicated that the robber was running away with his goods. Jimmy's stomach turned sour with acid and his hands shook after with a pang that ran through his whole body seeming to sharpen his senses but dull his mind. God, he thought he might throw up. His last twenty dollars. His apartment key. The ID he'd need for the new job. There'd not even be a way to get on the bus back home now. Don't think about it. Don't cry in public. Don't stand here and do that. Just start walking before it gets too cold and cry when you get home, where no one can see you. He dug his hands in his barren pockets and walked hastily. The theme thought of recent days played again in his head: This is what life does to you.