In a public phone booth, a middle-aged man clad in plain and even somewhat worn clothing was cradling a pitch-black receiver, yet his focus remained on the people outside the booth.
A young man, surrounded by people who all called him Morris.
Morris' father was a well-known gambler in the Imperial District and also fond of drinking; Morris had grown up amidst casinos and bars.
He always ran errands for his father or others to earn some pocket money.
Actually, from this perspective, he had the most comfortable childhood among Enio's group!
People on the street all knew him, and he could gain a penny or two in running errands with each task.
The man in the booth, reeking of alcohol, was a friend of his father's; the two of them gambled and drank themselves into ruin together, always maintaining a good relationship.
Naturally, he also got along well with Morris.
As he was thinking about some recent rumors and changes, the call suddenly connected, "Hello, Michael?"
