Would that I could stay up and all night and continue to pound away at this short story about a cannibalistic Bed & Breakfast, but I have to be on that grocery store grind. You know, the one that takes time away from the job that I like, the one that I'm passionate about?
Yeah, that one. One of my managers dropped a hint that I might be getting transferred to a store in the ghetto, and when I informed her that I'd heard nothing of this, she quickly dropped the subject and said that she'd only been kidding. I think I might prefer a store in the ghetto compared to where I'm at now (straight up Hickville, down in the boonies). At least then I wouldn't be the only one listening to rap music and be forced to listen to bluegrass music for eight hours a day.
Seriously. Bluegrass music. Eight. Hours. A day. Put yourself through that hell and tell me you wouldn't look forward to being transferred, either.
Regardless of what store I'm at, my desktop computer will always be in the same place, in the spare bedroom of my two bedroom apartment. And that's where the real work gets done.
Until next time, friends. Same blonde hair. Same rap channel...
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