The blonde has a name. It’s Marilyn, after Marilyn Monroe, though her father was distressed to discover that his idol’s real name was Norma Jean. Which gets Marilyn singing that pesky Elton John song. Once it fills her head with its insidious roundelay, it wipes away any other thought, melody or moment. Silence descends and she’s humming away.  She hums while waiting for the bus, sipping the coffee her boyfriend/boss Mr. X brought for her (a sweet habit) and then throughout the remaining ten hours while she’s balancing the end of year receipts. It’s a hard job that has never before required a full ten hours to complete. The issue is that the figures refuse to square up. She’s hoping to take the rest of the year off. Everyone else does.  But she can’t until she makes sense of the stray figures. She’s working harder now. Notices that it’s ten pm and picks up the phone to call her boss, her lover, Mr. X. He answers the phone as he leaves the shop. In the alcove outside the door, Mr. X peers in and watches Tom the Tailor rest his head on the bolt of cloth without bothering to lock the front door.