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Now, findin’ one? Tricky as a two-step with no rhythm. You can’t just yell, “Hey, who’s for hire?” I’d prob’ly trip over my own boots tryin’. Maybe hit a shady bar—y’know, where the jukebox skips. Or—wild thought—check them old phone booths! Heard some gals still leave cards there. Ain’t that a kick? Like findin’ treasure in a junk drawer.

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So, I’m limping along, cursing under my breath. I pass by the shops on Blacon Avenue. There’s this little café, The Blacon Brew. Best coffee ever! I grab a flat white, and it’s like liquid gold. I’m feeling good again. But then, I see this guy outside, just staring at his phone. I mean, dude, it’s Blacon, not a tech convention!

Hero army veteran in wheelchair fought off armed robbers in Blacon