<strong><br/>Tuesday 13th August 10:48<br/><br/>In a Taxi<br/><br/>Bran, Norm, Miyo</strong><br/><br/>"Meant to get you there as soon as possible, mate." he tells you through the rear view mirror then, paying little attention to the dangers of the road, turns round to face you as best as he.  "But I figure you're the boss."  He abruptly turns right without signalling - no cars were oncoming but you get the impression he would have done so anyway - and parks up to get your address and key in the satnav.  Before pulling back into the road without, so far as you can see, any sort of checking it was safe to do so.<br/><br/>A relatively hair raising ten minutes later he pulls up outside your place.<br/><br/><strong>Tuesday 13th August 10:48<br/><br/>Pet Warehouse, Ferguson Street<br/><br/>Jessica</strong><br/><br/>The Pet Warehouse is a single large room with industrial shelving units reaching eight or ten feet from the floor lining each claustrophobic alley, essentially a DIY store but filled with birdseed, rat runs and dog baskets.  Outside, accessible through a back door are cages that barely meet animal welfare guidelines (if, in fact, they do) filled with potential pets.  Staff wander around, so far as you can tell, at random identifiable by their brightly coloured jumpers rather than by any desire to help customers.<br/><br/>You manage to track one down eventually though.  He turns to you with a bored expression which changes to one of irritated expectancy when he realises you're going to ask him something.  At no point does he give any sort of indication he wants that; no "Can I help you" from him.