All good things must come to an end. Someday, somehow, I won’t work as a whore here in the shithole anymore. I have to admit the thought of such a prospect made me curious, so I got to thinking about how I might end up leaving … someday … and go to the mythical land of playful unicorns.
Alas, I realized that my best ticket out of here, Mama Compensation, is even less likely than getting a better job. Dammit. Of course even winning the lotto has higher odds than getting a better job. Scientifically speaking, getting raped by Hitler tomorrow would also have higher odds than finding a better job.
Realistically speaking, my best shot out of this job, short of death, of course, appears to be from the sale of one of my body parts. Perhaps I have some limited value to society after all.