New York, Midtown Manhattan, Spine Avenue, Waldorf Hotel Apartment.
"Huff~~" Jim exhaled a puff of smoke with the cigar between his teeth, glanced at the letter in his hand, and then tossed the job invitation along with the torn envelope into the trash can next to him.
The massage girl who had brought him the envelope paused at this action. She was setting up the massage bed on the balcony but couldn't help asking Jim, "Jim, did I bring you the wrong letter?"
"No, Julia, you didn't bring the wrong one. It's the invitation that was sent to the wrong place. Someone from Lexington wants me to run a treatment center for alcohol and drug addiction, and the person in charge actually fantasizes about taking this business public soon. Just from hearing that, you know he's an idiot, right? And I don't feel like working with idiot bosses lately." Jim turned and walked to the tiny balcony of his New York Manhattan apartment, deliberately unveiling his bath towel to the massage girl:
