Gwinnie, Part 1 - she about ran out of there, and headed downstairs, where another facility

would, hopefully, be either unoccupied, or only being used for it's intent.  Gwinnie had to pee.  Back to her desk, she gave the report a final look-over, then half chided herself for having, again, put nature on hold; at her age?  Not wise.  She forwarded the two pages of figures, then created a new template, with the changes, for next time.  

Next time.   Well considering what she, a few minutes ago, had witnessed - and she wasn't sure, what ... and, frankly, didn't want to know ... ew!   From the thunk of a cellphone hitting the floor - and one of the individuals grasping to retrieve it - probably a video being made; a typical click-bait, one that would garner towards a certain - still illicit - drug that came in one or two ounce bottles.

Still illegal - well, on paper, that is; it's use, however, was gaining popularity in leaps and bounds.  Only a few years ago, such - bottled in crystal - was only partaken by the wealthy.  Wasn't long after, the drug began appearing in plain glass; the formula being made somewhat affordable to the upper middle-class.  Recently, however, the stuff had been making its way, in one-ounce plastic bottles.  But still, even the cheap stuff, more often than not, came before things like, groceries, rent, tires - containing traction on them...yeah, that was another up-and-coming industry: pseudo-racers - yep, a $50 could get ya between inspections with one, maybe two, low-to-no treads.

Balding tires.  Last winter, a law had been passed, allowing police to ticket, but we all know the drill - the police were not only short-staffed, their average age had just crept a year or two higher; was now something like 44.  So, people adjusted.  Commuters took extra precautions when crossing the street on rainy/icy days.  And just tightened their belts come time to pay the auto insurance premium. 

While the very real commute hazards also served a handy excuse to sponge off others, there was more money in working, or pretending to.  Weather-related commute-issues, such almost sealed Gwinnie's decision, the previous late october, to put in her retirement papers.  Almost...yeah that car, the one with the blaring - and obviously tattered - speakers, had come within, like two inches.  

But our workaday heroine had, decades ago, asked the Lord Jesus to save her from a life of sin, and son's wages of eternal death.  So yeah, when that grunge-wagon nearly flattened Gwinnie, sure, she had been upset, and trembled a bit, yet a few hours later, basically forgot about it.

"But you were almost killed!"  Gwinnie had also been encouraged to press charges.   One thing for sure, AI wasn't playing foo-fooball (or whatever it was called) as he/she/it/they monitored the (everywhere) cameras.  Within, not even 12 hours, she had been contacted by three ... no wait, four attorneys.  

Amazing how word got around.  Wasn't like Gwinnie got on farcebook - ya have to create an account for that, as with several other platforms.  Nope, she wasn't interested in telling her business to ... whatever was droning out there.  But still, she had been urged to sue.  Sue for what?  Oh that's right...make up a boo-hoo  list, of several of the latest traumas - experienced, while not even a scratch resulted.

Yeah, while the restaurant and clothing industries was not doing well, the lawsuit industry was raking in serious money.  So, what was the name for the ongoing trauma, suffered after shelling out several thousand, only to receive automated phone-calls, prompting you to respond, only to be connected to "your call is very important to us, please wait for the next ..."  

No thanks!  Gwinnie had had her fill, a few years ago, when her fairly new washer had quit.  Her husband would have put the hammer down, but he was gone.  And per the things he did, (not merely said) she was reasonably assured, he sure didn't want to come back to this sullen, sin-worn world - complete with automated messages that lie like wet area rugs.

More later.