Afternoon sunlight streams through the Gothic windows in the bank lobby, highlighting motes of dust swirling through the air. CB stifles a yawn and waits, mostly patiently, in the cavernous room’s only line. It looks more like a church than a bank, and some might consider that appropriate—a church to Mammon, perhaps.
“Here comes trouble...”
CB looks over his shoulder and grins at the smiling, elderly man in the security uniform. “Heya Frank.”