I took my last un-employment check and bought plain black shoes and a navy shirt. I hadn’t worked in six months, and my old, worn-down soles were a sure sign of it. I tried to imagine what they would be looking for. The people at the head of employment down at the local hardware store, that is. I was scheduled to meet with them later in the week, and I was hoping that somehow, in this strange coincidence of a universe, I would in some way, fit the mold of an outstanding hardware-store employee.

I had found a place of residence in an old warehouse, where three others were already squatting. It had running water and a roof above me, so I made myself comfortable. The place was functional at best, but I felt lucky enough to have found it when I did, which was one month already into the three noticeably colder months of the year. One of my fellow vagabonds was one step ahead of me. Due to his state of employment, he was bringing home corn bread on a regular basis. This is how we got by. From one side of my room, I had a view of industrial buildings, the interstate, and train tracks all placed in front of grassy hills that stretched to the horizon. Out of the adjacent window, I could see the bustling city that operated in a manner that left all of its offerings unattainable for me.

Last fall’s painting job didn’t last long. That son-of-a-bitch wanted me to scrape the exterior of a five-floor apartment building with something that resembled a windshield scraper. He had me sanding while standing on a five-gallon bucket four stories up on a narrow surface that was convex. “Hey, I’ve got liability insurance” he must have thought to himself. The worst part was that you couldn’t even see if the surface was sanded from the ground.

I woke up on the day of the interview, not to the sound of my alarm clock but rather, to the sound of rain beating down on the roof of the warehouse. I glanced at my phone for the time and saw that I was going to be late for the interview. With a certain amount of pride, I put on my navy shirt and my khaki pants and then my plain black shoes. At that point, even if by some divine force I was able to find a bus to take me into town for the interview, I would still be late by about fifteen minutes. All things considered, I stood paralyzed by the foot of my bed. My mind raced through thoughts of the monotonous days of drudgery that awaited me. I scanned my brain in a desperate attempt to find a desirable solution to end my crisis. After weighing my options, I resigned myself to the idea that there was no other way. The days would simply no longer belong to me. My anxiety tapered off toward depression as I boarded the bus heading inbound.