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Post by Junko Takashi on Jun 14, 2012 17:56:16 GMT -5
The old, rusty bench creaked as Junko shifted in his seat. He tapped out a cigarette before placing the crinkled box back into his pocket. He fished out a lighter, striking a few times before the flame licked the end of the cancer stick. Taking a deep drag, he leaned back heavily. He simply loved the noises of the subway; it cleared his mind.
Who knew an old man like him would still be in the business of stealing and selling information? Well, he was only twenty eight but felt like an old geezer compared to the other kids on the block. The job title changed considerably during the years. What was the name now? An information broker, he chuckled. It certainly did describe his job.
Security has gotten tight recently. Junko had updated his systems constantly throughout the entire year. New security software appeared everywhere and developers promised absolute security. Of course, a great deal of them were just common steps to prevent information theft or basic programs to block simple viruses. But even he had to admit some really gave him a brain scratcher at times.
This made his job that much tougher. Money had gotten constricted, which lead to his next problem. The vision in his right has declined tremendously in the past few months. He sighed deeply. He spends hours upon hours in front of a computer at least three screens wide every day. When he leaves his home, he has to constantly be on the lookout for enemies such as previous targets, the government, as well as the uprising gangs.
He shook his head, brushing off the troubling thoughts and unbuttoned the few top buttons of his dress shirt. Junko reminded himself why he came in the first place: to test his peripheral vision. Lately, he began to note how his vision has affected him to try to counter ways in which he could adapt. For instance, he always walked with his right side close by a wall, where he could control the amount of human traffic passing by on his impaired side. However, in the open like this, some busy business men and school girls breezed by almost undetected.
Would this be my life? Blind at thirty. It sounded like a news story fishing for human sympathy. He flicked his cancer stick away. Why he was trying to quit was beyond him. His health is not exactly in tip top shape. “What am I going to do?” He muttered to himself and started to fish out another cigarette.
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