I woke up again, but now to start to work.
It was dark yet, like every day in that city. Turning on the lights, I finally discovered what I broke earlier: my glasses. Angry with myself, I took a broom and cleaned that. Then, brushing my teeth I remembered what happened earlier: something tell me that I just have one day before my death. Spitting out the toothpaste, I started to get naked and, after that, the hot water warm me inside that small bathroom, but always trying to organize my mind, something that I couldn't do, for some reason.
Already dressed, took my suitcase and crossed the front dor, walking straight ahead until the bus stop, where I took the bus and choose my favorite sit: the last queue, on the left. "What am I doing?" I was asking myself, "Why am I going to work if I gonna die tomorrow? Why am I still here?"
"Don't move one finger" said the man next to me, point something black to my back. "Listen to me, dude: you give to me your wallet and anybody needs to get hurt, did you understand me?"
I nodded and pull my wallet out. He took it and stood, leaving the bus on the next stop. I was shivering, something like that never happened to me before, why in my last day?!
I left the bus on the Main Street, where I have been working like a slave for the last two years, inside an old building called "Chairs Davinson"... yes, a chair store. I should call the police, but what should I say to the office? That I had been robbed on the bus and that I'd not describe the thief's face? It's better go to work and try to sell some chairs to compensate the fifty dollars that I lost earlier.
Crossing the old number nineteen, I entered on the store and said hello to the beautiful woman who works at the cash register: "Morning, how are you, Bea? She looked at me and smiled, "You don't need to ask me how I am every single day, Latin. Nothing have changed since the day when Robb Vander tried to steal two expensive chairs in one single day." I laughed, but that reminded me my wallet, and it made my heart freeze. "I'll never forget this day, actually because mr. Vander was our boss, so I think he just take things without paying cause he likes it."
She laughed and it compensate all the troubles that happens before. "Why don't ask her out?" I asked myself, every time when I talked with her in front of the cash register. "Because it's not the perfect moment" I always answer in my mind. Besides, my name isn't Latin, that's just a nickname, of course. Everybody who works there call me that because of one single person: Mason Clint, the "funny" man who take care of the Chairs Davinson's site. Mason realized that I have a different accent (even I pretended very well), so he research on my social medias and discovered that, two years ago, I was living in Fartura, a small Brazil city. After that, everyone who I knows on that city recognizes me as the Brazilian guy who was trying to get money besides the bald eagle's flings... everyone call me "the Latin American one, who came from the South America", so I got used to the nickname.
It was earlier yet, maybe a quarter to six. The gates was closed yet, so I waited thinking in that message. "Why I couldn't remember the reason of my dead today?" Maybe the delivery poisoned my pizza last night with drugs, but, again, I couldn't prove anything.
The only thing that I know is that day was different, and more one time the bad luck took me: my boss arrived and, immediately, call me to your particular room.
"Good luck, Latin" desired Mason, smiling with pleasure.
