That was a good paint job, with the metallic sheen and the gold flecks. And platinum hubcaps too. I just bought myself the social worker's ultimate dream car. No doubt it's going to impress the welfarians. It's meant to, officially speaking. I'm going down there right now, make sure they show some respect. They know the drill. I show up, listen to their pitiful ventures in nogoodland, hear about some little girl who got knocked by her father when they were both high on glue, or some old geezer who can't work anymore because he got cancer. And what do I do ? I save them ! A well-known crackhead stop mugging ladies through my diligent efforts, I get a bonus. Crime rate is down, I get a bonus. Nobody takes a plunge from a rooftop for two consecutive months, I get a bonus. Every time something even remotely positive happens in the district, like a mailbox being repaired instead of vandalised, I get a bonus. In December I have my annual review, and I usually pass it with honours and get a raise. Huge, in the 5 digits range. Social workers are high flyers now. My girlfriend is a nurse at St Claire Hospital. Nobody dies of natural causes there. Gunshots wounds for everyone, a suburban war zone. Well, she has bonuses for every gooey mess she has to clean up and the dirtiest, ugliest and smelliest ones pay the more. Before she moved in with me, she had already her own penthouse in Crescent Heights. At 22, she had had two facelifts, one lips job and one boobs job. And a nice little Picasso. Incidentally, she bought it from a futures trader who is a little protégé of mine ever since I got him out of the street and out of jail. Poor guy used to be a high flyer too, before someone turned the tables on him, and though he's still working day and night, buying and selling Caledonian nickel or Brazilian soybean, he can't hardly pay the rent of the cubicle-without-shower he's sleeping in. He feels useless doing this crappy job while I have an useful one. A real pity, but we social workers can't really complain about our