Moore walked towards his favourite alcove, feeling the same mixture of relief and joy that he noticed always persisted a few hours after his shift ended. The interior of the club was its usual self: dark but not blinding, cold but not freezing and quiet save for the lowered voices of the other patrons (almost all of whom were his colleagues and all of whom were females) and the wonderful music being played by the latest jazz band unearthed by the club's owner. Moore sat down with a sigh of comfort.

"I believe you owe me something, Moore."