In a small suburb slightly to the left of Melbourne, Australia there sat a small building, and in that small building where several apartments. The apartments were, of course, small. One of them, apartment 2B in particular, contained one Daniel Hearn.
He sat there at the small kitchen table, a copy of the local newspaper spread out in front of him. He was circling job advertisements with a pen, figuring out which ones he would be qualified for. He stopped briefly to wonder whether he had the hips to be a lingerie model, then quickly discounted the idea.
His left hand shot out sideways and grabbed a bottle of bourbon, his right still clutching the pen.
The money he had left from his La Perditan account was just enough to cover the bond and first month's rent for the apartment, the bourbon, some food, the newspaper, and the pen. He was tapped out. So... he needed a job.
And more bourbon.
