Two
Something’s Gotta Give
Amber
“Please, Professor Cluce. You’ve got to help me out.”
I can’t see Professor Cluce. I haven’t been able to see anything or anyone since the world became a blur of dark and light shadows eight years ago. But I don’t have to see him to know he’s only half-listening to my pleas. I hear the brusque sweep of a tablet and the slight crumple of notebook paper as he deposits them back into his bag—which I’m assuming is messenger-style since Professor Cluce is in his 50s and not the type of anti-establishment young rebel to carry a backpack.
If he were, maybe he’d take this case, I think with a grumble.
“Landlord dispute without a rental contract in place. Not my purview. Maybe ask Professor Stanton. He teaches…”
“Disability and the Law—I already did,” I answe
