Chapter Four Stephanie felt the phone vibrate in her pocket. Watching her client lying in the chair with his eyes closed, she carefully extracted the phone. The screen displayed she had a missed call and a voice message. Glancing back at the client she silently flipped the phone open; she didn’t recognise the displayed number and decided it must be a wrong number. Quietly she replaced the phone in her pocket and listened once more to her client, who with his eyes still shut began to speak in a whispered tone; his words nothing important. None of her clients seemed to do anything important any more, but of course they all thought every word they spoke was so vital, profound even. But it was all so bloody mundane; people enjoying being victims; wanting to be victims; wanting the kudos of being a victim; and they sure as hell didn’t want to give up being a victim. Life would be too difficult then. Nothing or no one to blame anymore. There was far too much mileage from being a victim. It often seemed to Stephanie there was an epidemic of the ‘poor me’ syndrome.
