The events that played on the monitors were numerous. Some… good deeds. Some… definitely not so good. And a few had Rommy wondering what had become of humans throughout the years. But, with his plain black coffee mug set in its normal spot, the man leaned back in the reclining chair, ready to start his evening of ‘people watching’.

His job was to spot anything out of the norm and warn those who would take care of it. A duty suited for a security guard getting up in his years. The younger guards could have dirty work. He had paid his dues after thirty-two years, his special order chair had been ‘earned’.

Now his working evenings were spent in front of three monitors, watching the events on each as if they were his own TV channels.

One… The flower shop across the street was the same as every weekend night. The younger kids came by to browse, socialize, and buy a stem to give to each other with their small, but proudly earned wages.

Two… Mr. Samson walked his herd of Pomeranians. Five leashes tangled until individual balls of puff could no longer be told apart. After the passing of his wife, the man had adopted in a new dog every year.

Three… A younger gentleman talked to a pretty lady, one arm leaned on a wall to her side. An obvious attempt at flirting, even without the volume on. And the dark headed lady was eating it up, smiling lips hidden behind an elegantly placed hand.

Mid-shift gave Rommy a short break. The intern took over the tri-display so he could something to eat and refill his beloved coffee cup for the coming hours. The kid was more observant then most. Not many college students would think the color of head-ware travelers wore as important. But it was, and typically you only learned that by working in the field for a couple of years.

Good… The flower shop lady ran from her shop, roughly pushing passed paying customers and stumbling into the street to wrap herself around a toddler who had wandered, unattended, in front of a fast moving truck.

Bad… A man dressed all in black, drew a knife on Mr. Samson, lips mimicking the harsh movements his arm drew the weapon through the air. The Pomeranians mirrored the hostile environment, working as one to back the danger away from their beloved master.

Questionable… The pretty lady was making, not so pretty faces as the man knelt in front of her. Both had lost important clothing but the man no longer looked as ‘into it’ as before. Not with the belt that tied him to a water pipe, and the skirt and brunette wig that were getting stuffed into her bag. Her being female was… now questionable.

Shaking his head, Rommy thumbed the dial on his comm, a direct line to his men.

Some would call it spying. The graying hair man called it a steady paycheck.