She smiles slightly and nods, then holds up a finger in a hang on a sec gesture. A small spiral-bound notebook is in her pocket, ruining the line of the pants; she pulls it out and flips it to the first page, where a note is already written.

MY NAME IS CHELL
I AM MUTE. I CAN HEAR YOU IF YOU SPEAK.
I USE SIGN LANGUAGE.
I LIVE AT [an address on Haven Street is written here]
I DON'T HAVE A JOB YET.

One gets used to the questions one is likely to be asked.