I used to be a pharmaceutical rep. I'd go to a doctor's office and buy their staff lunch and leave samples of whatever meds I was told to push that month. It paid much more than it should have, and otherwise was pretty lame, and then an elevator I was in broke, and dropped me basically two floors, and then I fucked up my worker's comp with along horrible lawsuit, where I was given bad advice that left me with nothing.
As part of the legal process I couldn't work and had to fake all this trauma and anxiety to get SSI and other support services, which ended up putting me in a room on Skid Row. And what became tricky was that the anxiety etc, I'd been faking in order to push my case, and then not to become homeless, now was real, because living on Skid Row, and being dependent on county/state/federal support systems was stressful as all fuck.
And then, if you really want to understand my anxiety, there's this other" thing", which I've never disclosed to anyone before, but it's necessary to do so now, if you want to understand the rest of this thing, this recounting of the stuff that happened to me.
YOU ARE READING
THE DOG HUNTERS (completed)
Художественная прозаA suicidal homeless weirdo has adventures. He runs into a duo of dog lovers, who spend their days traveling around the city observing and honoring dogs. Wisdom cannot be run away from. He escapes paradise and falls in love with a strange lady who m...
