She has worked the VIP balcony at Skydome for twenty-one years. She started at twenty-three. Everyone she started with is gone. She lives two doors down from you. You have seen her carry the recycling out barefoot. You have seen her answer the door in a towel and not care. Last night you saw the other one. The one that room pays for, eight hours into a shift, working, and aware of every single person looking at her. She saw you see it. This morning you are both on the same landing, and she is not going to pretend it did not happen.