I groaned, half awake, and stared blindly at the dispensing slot on the wall, I tossed off the sheets, rubbed my eyes, stretched and yawned. What would it be today, plumber? accountant? sculptor maybe? Yeah that sounded nice, something zesty like art.

I shivered, my bedroom was cold, I grabbed my slippers and threw on a robe. The chill air helped wake me up, the hot shower nearly finished the job, just one last thing to clear the cobwebs from my head. Two slices of toast with marmalade in hand, I stood in front of the black plastic panel on the wall and hummed.

Someone in Dearborn needed their wiring fixed, a couple in Southfield needed their house painted, and the Windsor regeneration project needed a mural painted on the outside of the old duty free shop.

I put my mug into the machine and selected the wiring job, it wasn’t art but at least it wouldn’t be outside in the cold. 30s later I took the now steaming mug and sipped, hot coffee laced with all the skills I’d need to wire an old townhouse.