“No, no, no. The sleeves are supposed to be showing! How do you not know this? Geez, you would think that I am the tailor here.”

The unkempt man standing in front of Swarley lowered his head and apologized. He measured the jacket’s sleeves again before scurrying off into the backroom. The dim lighting in the room did nothing to help ease Swarley's nerves.

“How did I end up back here? I was once a member of the truly elite. More women, booze, and money than I knew what to do with and yet here I am, in some back alley ‘tailor’ and I’m offended to even consider him that…”

Swarley shuddered at the thought as the ‘tailor’ returned to the room holding a cheaply made blazer. The smile on his face showed the admiration for the work. It only made Swarley want to vomit all over the inventory.

“Mr. Swarley, here is your jacket with the adjustments you requested. I hope that this meets your standards. I bid you good day,” he said before disappearing into the backroom once again.

The material felt itchy, but fit well enough to do for now. Swarley couldn’t afford much else at this point and knew that the road to riches would be an uphill battle. He walked across the street to the closest bar in search of opportunity. After ordering a scotch neat, Swarley leaned back against the bar. He glanced around the room looking for familiar faces or interesting characters to pass the time while slowly swirling his drink.

“I guess this is as good a place as any to wait.”