Amsterdam Zuid – Almere Centrum
“Can you cut these?” I bristle internally. He walked off before I noticed. “Properly”, he had added over his shoulder. And I am fucking doing it. I shake my head but continue cutting. Nine o’clock, still working for Paul. I háte him. Most names on the cards aren’t familiar, but I push on through, with a precision that deserves a medal. Suddenly he’s there, Paul Schimmelpenninck, in neat Arial-print. Black on white. I meticulously cut him out. For a moment I hold him in my hand. The decision appears to take itself. My hand screws up and Paul crumbles into the trashcan. I smile before I start on the next sheet.