"It pays my way, and it corrodes my soul..."
Are you Heller's Bob Slocum or Melville's Bartleby? Or someone in between the dismal acceptance of the grind and the refusal to comply with the demands that your existence is owed to the labor for something without regard for you?
She said, “You bring the poon, we’ll bring the doom.”
She was always down for trouble.
Always in some kind of it.