’ ‘The tables, they are turned, I think,’ she returned. She could smell him almost as strongly as she could the new paint on the fire escape walls, along with the wool suit and the weird polyester smell of his wet umbrella. I thought it was a mirror at the first, for it was so very like myself. She had begun to care about her appearance again, looking into the glass he gave her, a thing nearly priceless that was bordered in intricate golden filigree and rubies. “We can,” he said, “and we will. I don’t have to take this shit. And as a natural consequence, they don’t do so well, and they don’t get on—and so the world doesn’t pay them. ” He said.
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