Her day begins as the whole city prepares to retire. It’s six in the evening when she stirs in her bed. There is this persistent beep of her alarm clock that breaks her long spell of uninterrupted nightmare. Her unsteady hand reaches out, groping in the semi darkness till her long clumsy fingers hit the knob to turn it off. She drowsily lingers on for a while longer, in her cozy leather-bound couch. The delay is deliberate, somewhat. There’s no specific reason as such. Just that she’s been feeling pretty rundown over something that happened last night. Suddenly, she laughs. And she laughs again, sitting at the edge of her bed. She laughs at the things that had happened to her last evening. She laughs at the
That’s Miss Martini, the receptionist at Emjee’s pub. She lives in the basement of the building in her tiny, two-room suite......
