Signs

"Nothing odd then?" I asked the fellow, Darwin.

He has been relocated to Samsara, on Aulus Street, for the time being. I've been stretched thin, of late. Actors and whores. Sycophants. There are only so many ahn in one day. It is precisely times like these that I wonder at my own arrogance. The lure of wealth is strong. It is odd to have one's accounts swelling on the Street of Coins, to have one's diversified investments all reaping small, but positive dividends, and still look back fondly on days of wandering and near poverty. I wrote more then. I recited more. Orated. There was a balance between the romance and the sedition. Much of what I write now is painted over the next day. Dissidence and anger. Nothing so harsh as to foment a rebellion, but perhaps enough to open the eyes of the lower castes to the concept of fairness, if not equity. Dignity, if not reward. I do not know. There is arrogance in the upper echelon of my city's society. They play a cruel sort of Kaissa. I remember them carrying the bricks. Bowing. Apologizing for the greatness of what my city represents. Now they wear that greatness as if they never were shamed by it. In bold colors. In audacious fashion.

"It was quiet here last evening," the Cloth Worker informed me.

"Thank you," I said to him, palming the fellow a few coins. "Get yourself something to eat. Sleep a bit. Return here at midday."

"Very well," he answered.

"If you see the Six Girl," I said to him as he started off, "she is to report to Samsara at end of shift each night until further notice."

He nodded as he wandered off. The added security, the change in routine is likely unnecessary, but there are collateral benefits from it. If someone is trying to tell me something, he will need to deliver the message directly.