“Chilly, how’ve you been?” we shook hands. “Mister Moss! It’s good to see you again, sir!” The doorman called out to me as I waited for a car to pass down the one-way road before crossing the street. Still, my advice? Stick with a burger and fries. Food has even been in contact with Tcho, the bar’s owner and namesake, about filming an episode. Sure, it’s the house specialty and it brings gourmands in from around the country. The food’s not bad either, for a grease pit, just do yourself a favor if you ever visit, stay away from the bak bon dzhow. Cheap drinks, dark corners, no cover and a damn fine house band brought them in in droves. In the past few years Tcho-Tcho’s had become quite the popular spot with the disenfranchised college crowd. If I had to, I could find this little hole-in-the-wall blindfolded. No, Providence isn’t my home, but as I take the turn down a familiar, claustrophobic, cobbled road towards Tcho-Tcho’s bar, I realize how comfortable it and I have become together. It’s exactly the kind of environment that caters to a man like me. It’s a city on the edge, driven right to the brink by greed, nepotism and corruption. Providence might not be my hometown, but it’s grown on me. I pride myself on my keen understanding of man’s oldest currency: the economy of favors, one good turn after another and another and another. You scratch my back, I scratch yours, as the saying goes. Nowadays, it’s as easy as clicking a button but I remember the hard work and time that people used to put into building their stable of informants, working off of a very old concept. Contacts, networking, social media, it’s all built around the same concept: getting you out there, spreading your web, your message and your personal creed to as many people as you can. In everything, it’s as much who you know as what you know.
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