Noah Blow // District Six

Make no mistake, in the center of the city, we don't live in a numbered district. We live in district sex. That's what sells. My uncle - who was fucking old when he died in that gun fight with the Peacekeepers, don't you even worry your pretty head about it - he figured out early on that our district was going to be unexpectedly wealthy. Everyone needs medicine, even Snow himself. And where there's money, there's time. Once someone has met their basic needs - shelter, food, fucking - you still gotta find some way to fill up your days. So it isn't a question of, "how do I convince people to give me money?" it's, "how do I convince people to give me their time?"

My uncle got it right: with sin.

Of course I wasn't around when he started Jack of All Trades, which was just the back room of a supermarket, to start. But my grandparents have turned his success into legend. They're even older - in their nineties, now. They remember the Uprising, too, but that isn't nearly as important to the Blow Family Name (tm) as Uncle Jack. He was a man with a vision, willing to seize any opportunity, no matter what the cost.

Maybe that's why he never had any children of his own. Can't say I'm too broken up about not having any cousins. Having two bratty younger sisters was enough for me. The thing I can't figure out though is how he went his entire life without any sort of partner. Some of my other aunts and uncles have suggested that he preferred more unusual fare, but even if that was the case, he was the goddamn founder of Jack of All Trades. He could have had anyone he wanted every day of the week and twice on Sundays. So why go it alone?

I'm a serial monogamist myself. Yeah, I sleep on large bills, always have a stash of the latest and greatest to get you high, and I'm a one-woman show pony. Does that disappoint you?

Not that dating was always easy for me. I was the runt of my class until my second to last year of school. No girls even looked my way because they would have had to drop their chins to do so. My mama always said I'd grow into my looks - my squinty green eyes, fivehead and choppy blonde hair wasn't exactly a great combination. I've still got a smattering of acne scars and every so often one of those stubborn buggers pops up again. Acne really is the price you pay for youth. So there I was there: short, fat head, acne. I could barely get a girl to say 'hey' to me, let alone 'yes'.

But once I pushed past six feet, it all added up to something more desirable. Girls started acknowledging me when I asked them out. Then, they started saying yes. It was as surprising to me as it was to everyone else. Not that I would have ever stopped trying. In retrospect, it helped that I'd started working so early. The Jack of All Trades pays everyone - even the mop pusher - pretty decently. Once I started, I never had to take out any extra tesserae, if you get my drift. So I could afford clothes, could afford to actually take girls on dates. Of course it took me awhile to get a hang of the whole fashion thing. We'll just forget that pinstripe phase ever existed.

I had three girl friends my last year, each more accomplished than the last. You thought I'd say prettier, didn't you? Not that looks aren't important. Looks sell. But being in this industry - my Uncle died the same year I started dating - you gotta find someone who just doesn't give a shit if you come home drenched in a stripper's perfume.

I'm not sure I was my Uncle's favorite nephew. He always told me that I was too friendly with the staff and customers, that I shouldn't play favorites. He didn't like that despite my fivehead, I could talk my way into anything. I think it made him jealous. But he couldn't deny that day in and day out, I was there, mopping up the kitchen, vacuuming the changing room, tending bar once I memorized all the liquor we got (truth be told: it's not the best stocked bar in town. I'm working on it.) I paid my dues. I worked hard, before school, after school, during school.

In the end, I don't think it was the hours I put in that convinced my Uncle to will the place to me. I think it was that I actually wanted to be there. I'd show up before dawn with a smile on my face and leave after midnight laughing my ass off. It didn't matter how long the days were, because the Jack of All Trades is where I belong. In the end, time caught up with my Uncle, but he always had it right: where you spend your time is where your heart is, and my heart beats for this little sinful establishment.

And now, it's all mine.