I had $1.38 in my bank account.
Man, this sucks. What am I supposed to do with that?

I can’t even buy a cheeseburger from McDonald’s for that.

Whatever happened to making an honest wage, and not getting screwed over by everyone when you did?

I sank deep into my beanbag chair, one of the only possession I had left. Everything else had been pawned off to try to make ends meet. But even that hadn’t worked. I was down to my last dollar, and I had to make it stretch for two weeks.

I swore aloud. The noise echoed in my tiny one bedroom apartment.

Then came the banging on the wall from the old lady next door.
How was I supposed to eat? How was I supposed to pay my other bills? How was I going to live? If I had a drug habit or a super expensive hobby, I could understand where my money disappeared to. But I didn’t. Taxes, rent and a college loan were sucking me financially dry. And then there were bills on top of that.

I looked at my bank balance again, then swore.

The old lady started banging on the wall again.

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