“Why do you eat that crap, Tony?” My assistant’s sudden question caused me to curse, and I nearly dropped carefully wrapped burrito in my hand.
I turned away from the table, heading back to the box I’d left behind and continued my trek up the small, cramped, staircase that led to my own miniscule quarters.
“A man’s hands are his life, Rodrik. They’re the tools of his trade, no matter what that trade might be…”
This is an older work, but maybe you’ll like it! It’s fantasy, so if that’s your cup of tea check it out!