Don’t Write Checks…

Well… I am nervous, beloved reader. This bike messenger job was the hardest earned $18 of my life. I feel I’ve had a taste of what real, immigrant workers must endure to make ends meet as a newcomer in this country. I have invested so much money just to take this job, thinking it would compensate like my other menial labor as a housekeeper did. That does not seem to be the case.

Father, when I said I didn’t give a hoot about money, I meant I did not love or lust after it. I like it fine. Or, better said, I like being compensated fairly for my labor. It affords me lots of things and freedom. Please, all I ask for is my daily bread, shelter and enough left to keep my pets. I ask for the strength to become a stronger messenger or another job opportunity soon. Amen.

I’ll keep you posted, dear reader. I may have written myself a check my butt can’t cash.

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