The Luck of the Draw

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It was one of those oppressively humid days where the air was still and the promise of relief from the thunderheads that loomed on the horizon was still an hour or more away. My clothes were sodden and my feet hurt from tramping all over the downtown area scattering cards. It was time for a rest and a cool drink in the quiet of my new office.

I paused to take a long look at the window before unlocking the door. The twenty-four carat gold-lettered sign had cost a small fortune, a fortune I didn’t yet have, and maybe never would acquire if events of the past week were any indication. A week—that’s how long the office of Rex Anwalt, Attorney-At-Law had been open for business.

Only—there hadn’t been any business. Beyond an occasional curious rubbernecker hardly anybody even looked at my storefront window, and those who did had obviously not been in need. I had taken brief encouragement when, on opening day, a strange little man had taken a notebook from his pocket and stopped to write something down, but except for me nobody had ever yet been inside—unless you counted the mailman, who had delivered the bill for telephone installation also on opening day.

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