I'm standing at Old Street Roundabout with a really heavy briefcase. Paper is made of wood, and I'm carrying around at least three bonfires. My head hurts and I'm having a fag, waiting for the bus.
I worry about the case I'm on in in half an hour for. A young man in an unsteady job helping people in the gym is behind on his rent. He's so badly paid he would be better off on the dole. That's a harsh thing to say to any young person.
A young woman walks up to me. “How are you” she says. Her face is open and friendly. “Not so bad “ I say, but already my panic response is going. She knows me, but I don't know who she is. Must be a former client.
“I just wanted to tell you how much you helped me get back on my feet. Thank you, you really did a good job for me” says the woman, whose face I remember but who's name escapes me.
I'm a bit flustered because I have a brain that needs helpers when I see a face. It's rude to ask the client to remind you of the case papers. If I could remember which writ, which notice of possession, which warrant of eviction, maybe I'd stand a chance. She's still smiling.
“Look , I'm off to work, but thank you” she says. Then the bus arrives. My guardian angel gets on the bus and flies away.
Suddenly, the day becomes a little brighter.