"Yes, less than seventeen dollars."

"Yeah, I'll definitely do that." Long sigh. "I wouldn't mind pretty much any kind of work, I just don't know where to begin for something not illegal."

The woman looks thoughtful.

"How old did you think you were?"

...She starts rapidly writing in the notebook.

"So, first, tell me. Do people show up around here and not know anything about anything and be in the wrong body? Is that a thing?"

The woman grins.

"More or less. Started twenty years ago. An apartment or alley or something twists into a maze and everyone in there gets their memories messed up."

"Great. Fucking great. At least there is a sort-of-explanation." She stops writing. "What's your name, anyway? I'm Wendy. Or so I think."

"Sheila. Remember me if you turn out to be rich?"

Sheila offers a hand to shake.

Wendy will shake it. "Aye. And I doubt I'm rich. Twenty bucks and nothing else in my pockets. Maybe I'm a runaway."

"Or maybe you were just going to the shops. What do you remember about your family? Some of it's probably true."

"Mom and dad were poor and not great at resolving marital disputes and I ran the hell away as soon as I had a ride out of town and was good enough at charting to feed myself with it. When I was seventeen in my memories. I don't remember cities like this though, this is crazy huge."

"Well, sounds like you probably are a runaway, then. What do you mean, 'charting'?"

She flips around the notebook to reveal strange letters scattered across the page. "...This sort of thing? Magic?"

"Wow."

Sheila looks impressed.

"You got magic."

"Yep. And apparently that's new and all these - the roads and walkways look like carefully melted stone, you have boxes that can show moving pictures and carriages that move themselves. But I have magic. That said, want to be nice and cozy and warm for the next twelve hours? I can do that with fifteen minutes of writing."

"Yes I would like that!"

"If you have magic, you should not have trouble getting money. Did you not remember that magic is rare? What does your magic do?"

"Almost anyone can chart where I'm from. Paper and ink are expensive, and you have to learn to write just so, but it's not rare. It does... A lot of things. I'm not sure how to sum up what's easy and what's hard or impossible." 

The writing starts again, on a new page.

"Here the only people with magic are Warped, and even for Warped it's rare. But some people walk into Warps just for the chance of getting magic."

"And that's the name of - 'having your memories all screwed up'?

"Yes, the thing that happened to you. Warps are the places it happens."

"Okay. You think anything will chase me for - They said I was shoplifting, but I actually wasn't, and I used magic to get away when some guy grabbed me."

"Dunno'. Depends if anyone tells the police."

Sigh. "What a busy day I've had."

"If you want to find people who'll know what to do with magic and won't let the cops find you, I know where to find who knows someone."

"I mean, I'm sure a lot of the things I already know how to do with it are the same. Less idea how to straightforwardly turn magic into money, admittedly... And I'm still totally not used to this place. I'd appreciate it tomorrow, I think, and tonight I'm gonna go to that store and then write out some charts."

"'Kay. 'Night."