February 7
by Amy
The summer is going to be a bitch here in Chicago. A riot they think. I don’t feel it, yet. Barring anything traumatic this year, I think it might be a whole lot like last year… Lots of expectations with no real changes.
This afternoon, a friend told me that she suspects someone here works for the feds. I hate that kind of insidious paranoia. I told her to stifle herself. We don’t need that type of talk here, but she was adamant. Something about some files missing. Again, that doesn’t mean anything because files go missing all the time. The space between Rennie’s desk, the filing cabinet and our bookcase is a Bermuda Triangle of paperwork. We’re not that organized where we can determine with any certainty that something is missing. Our filing system is non-existent.
The person who told me, and who asked me not to tell anyone – or at least not to use her name if I did tell anyone… That person told me that there were other indications that we have at least one fed here. I asked her why she thought that, but she wouldn’t elaborate.
“Tell you later.”
Right. And now, I’m completely on edge. She’s gone and I don’t feel like I can bring it up with anyone else. No one.
