Lotion
America on Lotion
- TNP Nation
- Lotion Empire
Timothy reached out for a box of cigarettes he had within his pocket. He only had one left.
When he had begun smoking, he stared towards the few bright street lamps across from where he was sitting. Around him, however, were dirty stone steps with a bunch of rubbish. He was almost entirely in the dark. His cigarette being the only light on the stairs.
He relaxed himself now. He was a bit happy, he had gotten a paycheck today, and he could now finally buy some food for himself. His last meal was.. 4 days ago? No one knew by this point. All of his days were consumed by scavenging wreckage and working endlessly at a factory which barely paid him enough for his work.
He chuckled to himself a little bit. It was a tad funny to himself. He loved working when he was young, and tried to work as much as he could. And now here he is, working every day, every hour, every minute, and every breath of air. He got what he wanted, but with a worse result.
If there was one question Timothy had for himself, it was why he bothered coming to this country. He was a foreigner, he had no relatives, no marriages, no love for the people or land, no appreciation for the job he had gotten, or anything. He hated this country, if anything. Yet, he was still living here albeit, barely.
He stood up and climbed up the stairs. As he went higher and higher, he noticed the large block buildings that were in every direction. He saw those buildings everyday. He already knew the best spots within the blocks, and already knew some people who mostly were like him.
Eventually, he reached the 6th floor of his block. Moving forwards, he passed by the depraved and empty dark rooms. Finally, when he reached his own spot, he noticed the small fire that was there. He sat around it.
He felt relieved now. It was slightly comforting. Sitting near the fire in the dark, by yourself. No one near you, dead silence. Total freedom.
As he sat there by himself, he began thinking. Was the work he had done really necessary? Factory work as he had done paid him barely enough, and he was homeless. He worked day on, and day on. Constant work, and work. No matter what day, he had constantly worked his hardest. He lost hours of sleep for the work he put out. His arms, back, and leg ached to the point it was painful every time he returned to.. His "home". His future was gone before it even began.
If anything, he should be the person to leave the job and try to get another. He had no place for factory work like this.
He laid down there. Almost laying a tear, for the cold truth that he knew. No other job would need him. He lived like this because he had nowhere to go. He hated it, but the truth was, he had to work every day. He had to suffer and break his body for this. Because there is no other option.
He sighed. It was all so confusing to him. Everything that led up to his life, his work, it all was confusing and unknown. He needed rest now.
He stood up and laid onto a damaged sofa. Laying down there, he stared at the ceiling until he fell asleep. To wake up and do work tomorrow.
When he had begun smoking, he stared towards the few bright street lamps across from where he was sitting. Around him, however, were dirty stone steps with a bunch of rubbish. He was almost entirely in the dark. His cigarette being the only light on the stairs.
He relaxed himself now. He was a bit happy, he had gotten a paycheck today, and he could now finally buy some food for himself. His last meal was.. 4 days ago? No one knew by this point. All of his days were consumed by scavenging wreckage and working endlessly at a factory which barely paid him enough for his work.
He chuckled to himself a little bit. It was a tad funny to himself. He loved working when he was young, and tried to work as much as he could. And now here he is, working every day, every hour, every minute, and every breath of air. He got what he wanted, but with a worse result.
If there was one question Timothy had for himself, it was why he bothered coming to this country. He was a foreigner, he had no relatives, no marriages, no love for the people or land, no appreciation for the job he had gotten, or anything. He hated this country, if anything. Yet, he was still living here albeit, barely.
He stood up and climbed up the stairs. As he went higher and higher, he noticed the large block buildings that were in every direction. He saw those buildings everyday. He already knew the best spots within the blocks, and already knew some people who mostly were like him.
Eventually, he reached the 6th floor of his block. Moving forwards, he passed by the depraved and empty dark rooms. Finally, when he reached his own spot, he noticed the small fire that was there. He sat around it.
He felt relieved now. It was slightly comforting. Sitting near the fire in the dark, by yourself. No one near you, dead silence. Total freedom.
As he sat there by himself, he began thinking. Was the work he had done really necessary? Factory work as he had done paid him barely enough, and he was homeless. He worked day on, and day on. Constant work, and work. No matter what day, he had constantly worked his hardest. He lost hours of sleep for the work he put out. His arms, back, and leg ached to the point it was painful every time he returned to.. His "home". His future was gone before it even began.
If anything, he should be the person to leave the job and try to get another. He had no place for factory work like this.
He laid down there. Almost laying a tear, for the cold truth that he knew. No other job would need him. He lived like this because he had nowhere to go. He hated it, but the truth was, he had to work every day. He had to suffer and break his body for this. Because there is no other option.
He sighed. It was all so confusing to him. Everything that led up to his life, his work, it all was confusing and unknown. He needed rest now.
He stood up and laid onto a damaged sofa. Laying down there, he stared at the ceiling until he fell asleep. To wake up and do work tomorrow.
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