I've not quit yet, he says in a tone of voice that tells me it won't be long before he does. They keep trying to get rid of me. I'm holding on just to spite them really.
He leans on a broom, an unlit cigarette dangling from his lips.
There's a no-smoking (or vaping) rule; they told me that on day one. Jim told me that when he started (you weren't even a glint in your pop's eye, son) you could smoke in the warehouse. He said that they then banned it after a fire, but they put in a smoking room. Then the room turned into a shelter outside (it barely kept the elements out, Jim complained to me once) but then they tore that down and said you couldn't smoke within five hundred yards of the building.
They can't stop me from doing this, though, he said to me when I asked about the cigarette. I know it annoys them.
They've been trying to get rid of Jim for a long time. He knows too much, he told me. A bad influence on the young pups like you.
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