Lonely Minx.

In the morning, I went to work.

We had to be there at six to get our uniforms and meet our new "On The Job" trainers. The guys who'd be taking us in the field and showing us all of the bad habits we'd eventually be bitched at for. I was exhausted. Marie and I had finally had the energy to have sex the night before, and for whatever reason, I can never sleep after sex. I'll just lay there, making up stupid puns or insane conspiracy theories until my brain shuts down on it's own volition. So, three hours later, and I was standing in the parking lot with my fellow retards, waiting to be assigned.

Shawn read down a list of names, ours then our trainers, and assigned us.

"Benson, you're with Haverford." Benson walked over to Haverford.

"DiMarco, you're with Austin." DiMarco went to Austin.

It went on like this. They all shook hands, laughed about jokes I couldn't quite make out, and then climbed into their trainers vans and disappeared for their first day in the field. I waited.

"Fallinger... Harrison... O'Toole..."

"I think you forgot me.," I said.

Shawn looked up. "What was your last name?"

"Martin."

He looked back down at his clipboard, running his pen down the side of it. "Martin. Martin... Martin... Well looks like I forgot to assign you."

"Great. Can I leave?" The other guys laughed. I wasn't looking for laughs.

"No can do, bro. Time to get out there. You're with...Wilson. Wilson, you here?" He shook his shaggy empty head around, searching.

A short man came out from behind one of the vans. He had a do-it-yourself haircut and reminded me vaguely of a potato. "I'm here."

"Great," Shawn said. "You got Martin."

I walked over and shook his hand. "Call me Justin," he said.

"Nice to meet you Justin. James. Let's get the fuck out of here."

He smiled a little. "No problem."

We walked across the parking lot, got in his van and left. His van was nearly immaculate. Everything was not only organized, but zip-tied down, so as to prevent any "shelf-wear" type of eventual disorganization. To take something and move it, you really had to want to. It was fucking cold inside the van. The A.C. was blasting. I didn't say anything. It was his van. I sat back in the seat, and kept my mouth shut.

We left town, and got on the interstate, heading south toward Albany.

"All of our work's in Albany today," Justin said.

"Cool."

"Yeah, especially since I've been in Massachusetts the last four days. That sucks."

I was trying to figure him out. I kept looking around the van for clues. Personal trinkets he might have left around. A picture of a girlfriend or a kid maybe. His radio was on, but inaudible, and I looked to see what station it was, but the display only showed the time. I had nothing to work with besides talking. I was fucked.

The drive to the first job went easy enough. I don't think either of us were really comfortable, and preferred the awkward silence to asking about the weather or whatever sports teams guys like him were into.

We pulled up in front of a white two-story house just south of Albany, but close enough to still be in the moat of shitty neighborhoods surrounding it.

"Well, you ready?" Justin asked as he pulled a clipboard from the clipboard space he had designated between the visor and the ceiling.

"I guess so."

"Good."

He got out and I followed. Immediately I felt completely ignorant. I knew I was supposed to be watching his every move, but I felt like I should know a little more about the process before the company burdens an innocent man with me. Trudging me around. I could only hinder his speed. His paycheck.

"How long have you been doing this?" I asked him as we approached the door.

"Six months."

I stopped. "Jesus Christ. Six months? And you're training me?"

"I guess so. I'm kind of a veteran."

"At six months? How long are people usually doing this? A fucking week?"

"About a month or so," he said.

"Damn."

"Yeah."

We walked up to the front door. Justin knocked and I realized I was now the guy that everyone waited on for hours. That no one really wanted around. That was a ghost, only invading your privacy.

"Housewives ever try to fuck you?" I asked.

"What? No. Watch the swearing."

Maybe he was one of the uptight fuckers. The by the book-ers. So much for my self-loathing drunken genius. I was stuck with Justin, the future assistant manager.

I decided to try again.

"Just asking. Some little lonely minx never came strolling up on you out of a dark bedroom. Oh, I've got you sports package right here Mr. Cable Man. Mmmm, run that cable."

He set his clipboard down on a railing and turned to me. He looked me in the eye, like I was stealing his farm and giving it to the railroad company for westward expansion.

"Enough," he said.

"Wow. Fucking relax. I was just asking."

He turned back to the door and didn't talk to me again that day. He did each job, and I watched silently. I should have kept my mouth shut. I had fucked myself. Only five weeks and six days left.