The cafe buzzed with noise, not overwhelming, but enough to be distracted. Derrik sat at the table, fingering his coffee cup. A woman took the seat across from him.

“Truthfully, I do feel bad for you,” Kristina said.

“Why? I don’t think of it as a handicap. I can imagine a place looking much better than it actually looks. For instance, I have no doubt that the cafe we’re sitting in has grease smeared on the floor and some unknowable liquid dripping from the brick, but I can imagine myself being in the Taj Mahal. With a lot of coffee smell. In fact, I almost ‘see’ it as a blessing. Also, I don’t have to judge people by appearance.”

Kristina sipped her coffee. “So what else can you hear, smell…?”

“That woman smoking a cigarette over there? She’s lost her wedding ring but she doesn’t want her husband to find out. The man with the rough German accent, he actually works for the Russian mafia, trafficking drugs across the country.”

“You see, Derrik? This is why we need you.”

“No. I don’t see.”