You’re reading this so you know I don’t have a job. I’m home for summer but businesses only see students as terminal patients. We’ll be pitied and maybe thrown a bone for a couple months before we go to hell and are quietly forgotten. At least dying people can give advice for a nickel or another bag of morphine; I haven’t found managers eager for my thoughts on Thoreau. So now I work as an independent contractor, meaning I wait for my parents to tell me where to drive my brothers and then I collect that gas money son! Given their expectations I’m enrolling in some classes next quarter to prepare for next summer: The Pathology of Being Broke and Disappointment 101.
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