Walking down busy streets, sweat dripping down everyone's faces. Pedestrians bumping into each other. Phones in hands or inside pockets, the noise of shoes tapping and people chattering. Kids being chased down by adults, parents presumably, people holding hands and looking at each other fondly. People looking into shops. Distress or happiness or frustration is written on their faces.
Why are the streets of the city so busy so early in the morning? I ask myself, huffing in exasperation, trying to get through pedestrians, clutching the stack of papers in my hands.
It's ten in the morning but it seems as if the whole city is out parading in this particular street. It gets on my nerves being so close to everyone, not knowing who they are or where they have been. Call me paranoid, but situations like these get me on my toes. I hate being in a room full of people but, for some reason, that's what life is all about.
I shrug all of my unnecessary thoughts out of my head before stepping into a clothing shop with the sign 'HELP WANTED.' I smile politely at the young woman on the other side of the cash register, having a conversation about the sign outside before handing them my resume. They inform me that they'll get back to me before I say goodbye and turn to leave.
A sudden wind passes by, making me unprepared, allowing the papers in my hand to slip right out. I curse at that, jumping around, hoping to catch at least one of them but to no avail. I stand up straight, giving up on them.
It's about time I go home, anyway.
I wasn't able to have any breakfast earlier so I don't have the energy to stay out pleading for a job any longer. I sigh in relief at the thought of being done roaming the streets for the day as I put my hands inside my pant pockets. I look around, noticing that the streets are just as busy and diverse as they were earlier, the suffocating feeling in my stomach coming back to me.
I look down at my shoes, seemingly more interesting as I continue walking. That is until I come stumbling and fall onto the concrete floor. I hiss in pain.
"I'm so sorry!" The culprit to my pain shouts, only giving me a glance before running off again.
I sigh but let the accident go and attempted to stand up but it only ended as an attempt as I felt hot liquid dripping down my head. "What the fuck?!" I yell in exasperation, looking up to see no one. I turn my head around to see the person who spilled their coffee on me running to the person who had made me fall, and indistinct shouts were heard.
Can life get any worse at the moment?
You would think after a life full of misfortune I would get used to it but every passing day just makes me hate my life even more.
I wonder what my parents were thinking when they named me Lucky. They probably jinxed my life as Jordan Lucky Anderson.
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Lucky's (Mis)Fortune (MXMXMXM)
Narrativa generaleJordan Lucky Anderson has been looking for a job for the past 2 months. He's about to run out of money and struggling to pay the next month's bill. As they say, desperate times call for desperate measures. So, when his classmate offers him a job he...
