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( CHAPTER TWO: SECOND CHANCES ) December, 1988
❝I could be dancin' next to janet motherfucking jackson?! ❞
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Who in their right mind would hire an unexperienced twenty-year-old with no college degree? If Devon ever had to slim chance to run a business, he certainly wouldn't be idiotic enough to recruit his pathetic self to be a part of his workforce, not that something like that would ever happen. It took a while to finally give into his mother's troublesome pestering, but with a dingy and bothered manner, Devon accepted her wishes, agreeing to enter the workforce.
Although his ambitious dreams had never once left his mind, Devon's optimism couldn't help but waver under the misfortunate circumstances he stumbled himself in, always pondering on why he was so unsuccessful when striving to achieve. Ever since he left high school, all he's ever attained was failure, disappointment and regret, which was the total opposite of what he hoped to be when he graduated.
Because he didn't have all the qualities to obtain a well-paid job, Devon's mother called his uncle who worked in the janitor business to take the young man under his wing. It wasn't particularly the most glamorous profession in the world, but it was enough for him to earn some loose change and keep his mother happy.
Bright and early the next day, Devon soppily entered the bus which usually swung around each morning, his steps droopy and his handsome face void of his glimmering smile, which slightly upset his local bus driver, since Devon was usually more than happy to send a nice smile each time he step foot on the public transport. "What's wrong?" his bus driver – Darrell – asked whilst he examined his bus pass, noticing the uninviting expression that Devon bitterly wore.
The younger male sighed, adjusting the position of his army-printed cap so that it angled towards the left. "I just ain't feelin' it today," Devon responded, casting down his coco eyes on the bus floor so that he didn't poison the driver with the detrimental weight of his miserable gaze. Darrell shrivelled his mouth to the side at his dry answer, quickly fishing out a crumbled wad of money from his wrinkled pocket and stretching his arm outward to the saddened young man standing before him.
"Go getcha somethin' to cheer you up," the driver insisted, his smile gentle and full of comfort. Devon stared at the bundle of greens before he pressed his lips together and shook his head, "You don't need to take care of me, you know?" Devon reminded the older man, his coffee-coloured fingers wrapping around the strap of his duffel bag which hung from the hooking of his shoulder.
"You're a good kid, Dev, and I hate to see a good kid upset," Darrell explained, by now, pushing the money into Devon's clasped hand, no matter how much he didn't actually want to take the charity. He knew how low bus driver's got paid, so him giving Devon this amount was probably his weekly wage. "Just don't use it on dope."
