The freelance professional problem solver can’t sleep without a heavy dose of NyQuil; he has a world’s worth of issues on his mind. His breakfast is a stale granola bar (the kind that crumbles everywhere when you open it) from the back corner of his sparse pantry and a pot of coffee. His wardrobe is composed of cool toned and neutral colors, as his hope is to be as unremarkable as possible. He yanks a blue collared shirt and navy slacks out of his closet and throws them on, along with the rest of his daily garb. He slows for a moment to honor his dental hygiene ritual – this is his only moment of peace in a day. Brush, floss, then mouthwash. His pulse quickens as he retrieves his phone from the lock-box he secures it in each night.
Hundreds of messages. Hundreds of people asking for his help with a problem of theirs that appears far too daunting to tackle alone, and it’s not even his busy season. Around the holidays, he receives upwards of a thousand inquiries a day.
If there is one thing he has learned in his time in the field, it’s that most of these people are totally capable of working out their problems on their own. These days, though, people are so anxious that they just need a hand to hold; a service that he feels fulfilled by providing (for a convenient and reasonable fee).
He arrives at the home of the day’s first client and presses the doorbell. The door cracks open and a wrinkled man stands behind it.
“Thank you for coming, I wasn’t expecting it.”
rose lit world 