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The cheaper place turned out to be a dreary fourth-floor walkup, one-room apartment on the Lower East Side. From her room, through the paper-thin walls, Tracy could hear her neighbors screaming at one another in foreign languages. The windows and doors of the small stores that lined the streets were heavily barred, and Tracy could understand why. The neighborhood seemed to be populated by drunks,[link widoczny dla zalogowanych],[link widoczny dla zalogowanych], prostitutes, and bag ladies.
On her way to the market to shop, Tracy was accosted three times--- twice by men and once by a woman.
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She went to a small employment agency a few blocks from her apartment. It was run by a Mrs. Murphy, a matronly looking, heavy-set lady. She put down Tracy's resumé and studied her quizzically. "I don't know what you need me for. There must be a dozen companies that'd give their eyeteeth to get someone like you."
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"But you said---"
"Companies are jumpy these days about computer crimes. They're not gonna hire anybody with a record."
"But I need a job. I---"
"There are other kinds of jobs. Have you thought about working as a saleslady?"
Tracy remembered her experience at the department store. She could not bear to go through that again. "Is there anything else?"

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