The drought of gossip ended today.

Edna had stayed in the building since the fire for something like 36 hours; she was too busy. She strolled the halls, with the murmurs of worried voices, crying women and dogs, and the yelps of the same ol' crack addicts. She tried to piece it together, the super was counting on her.

No, not counting on her, forcing her - blackmailing her. He had told her that someone had died, and it hadn't been an accident.

"Now figure this shit out before tenets stop moving in."

Sure, people had died in this neighborhood. Plenty of blood had been spilt. But it had never been due to an outside conspirator, or at least that's what she had pieced together so far.

So now Edna made her way through the halls, weaving between the leaking pipes, peeling wallpaper, and other damages she was meant to fix. She had other things to fix. People were talking again, but no one was really saying anything.

What she has gathered so far:

- The paper said it was the librarian.

- No one really cared.

This town was a shit hole, and Edna was just a pawn. She had no goals, no values, no morality. She was a human recorder. Clearly, no one in this town actually cared for the people. She had heard the librarian had not died quietly, but Edna knew she would die in silence, and soon, her secrets overwhelming any original thought.