The "guy" answers

A middle-aged man partially opens the door, as much as the chain latch allows. He sizes you up and you can't help but feel a little uncomfortable and self conscious of your body. You bring your bag closer to your body.

"How can I help?"

"Girls wanna drink wine." You recite the 'password' that was required to get his services.

He closes the door in your face. You feel a bit uneasy. Is that the right adress?

You hear latches and locks being opened from the other side and you sigh, a bit relieved.

"Come in." You obey him and enter the old room full of archives and binders. It look like an 80's accounting office with its beige walls and stuff. Kinda brings you back a little. The man with gray hair gestures for you to sit.

"Thank you." Your voice still annoys you. Wasn't there any way that fucking gun could've made it sound less bratty? "I'm looking for a fake ID." The man looks at you like you just said something a dumb blonde would say... wait.

"Really? What kind of ID?" He says while looking over some folders he's got sprawled on his desk.

"One that it's good enough to get a job and apply for food stamps and stuff like that." You say while rubbing your bellly. That's becoming oddly addicting. He seems to go over some other papers before monotonously replying.

"An ID like that and putting you in the database will cost you two thousand dollars." You almost fall out of the chair.

"Two thousand WHAT? I got-" You interrupt yourself before you say something that 'doesn't make any sense'. "I mean, my friend got a fake ID for a hundred bucks!"

"Fooling dumb bouncers and fooling the federal government are two quite different things, missy. I have to pay my contact to make your ID look valid for the system." He says quite matter-of-factly. You, the 'missy', can barely comprehend. Your voice sounds even more whiny if that's possible.

"But... but... I don't have this much money." He gets up from his chair and starts to make his way to your side.

"Then I'm afraid that we can't do business my dear." He puts a hand on your shoulder and indicates you to get the hell out with his head.