JJ
By the next afternoon, the reception counter had disappeared beneath a mess of paper receipts, printed email confirmations, warranty pages, photos of serial numbers, bank statements I already had access to, and supplier invoices Stitch had somehow managed to dig out of old folders.
Marissa was on video from my laptop while Stitch sat on one of the still-wrapped waiting chairs with a stack of papers in his lap. He held up a screenshot from three years ago where he had texted me, Your new machine sounds like an angry mosquito.
“I would like it entered into evidence that I was right.”
Marissa smiled. “The machine receipt matters. The mosquito commentary does not.”
“Biased legal system.”
I pulled another page from the pile. “What about this?”
She leaned closer to her screen.
The fir
