"Where are you going?" Quentin asks. "To do my job. You need to start thinking about whether you've got what it takes to do yours." "Hey, don't--" I slam the door and hurry down the hall. The Brightside Manor Apartments stand like a visual reprimand to every liberal fantasy of government-subsidized housing. The dilapidated buildings look like sets built for a Blaxploitation flick from the seventies, like you could walk up and push them down with your foot. Thirteen big saltboxes grouped on the edge of St. Catherine's Creek, all centered around a massive square of asphalt crowded with one of the strangest collections of motor transportation in the nation."