After moving to the big city, you got yourself an apartment, and secured a temp data entry job- just to keep you afloat till something better comes along. Your official title is a Data Conversion Operator, but you're really more like a warm body who types up all the junk computers still can't read.
Day to day, you go to work & process the images displayed on your terminal, and type up whatever text is in front of you. Whatever can be made out, that is. Letters and lost mail, some mangled and twisted, that have travelled from place to place with nowhere else to go. Sometimes the mail you receive is a little strange. Sometimes, it feels like it's talking to you directly through the screen...