"You came to see me?" I asked Miranda, taking in her angry expression and inability to meet my eye. "First, how the hell do you know where I live?" I crossed to the left seat near the front window, the one whose back faces the corner, and sat down, catching the expression of Ken, the front desk guy, out of the corner of my eye. Miranda sat down facing me. "Because you told me the night I poured the drink on you," she said, her expression somewhat smug. I sighed. "Look, if this is some more "tools of the oppressor" bullshit you've been sending us, you realize that you're in this building withou… Read more