I'm really suffering here in the van. It leaked pretty bad on my bed. Then I went to Inglewood to assemble a bookshelf right next to the projects. I was certain I'd be killed. Then I went back to Inglewood and passed the remains of a car and tell-tale bullet cones and police. Crenshaw and Manchester. The worst. Freezing. Wet.
So I gave my notice. Fuck this job. I should just stop going but I feel a week or two is still possible. But if I get gunned down because I'm trying to make $25 assembling a fucking shitty Chinese computer hutch then I'm going to punch god or the devil in the fucking face.
Then I see a nice mexican trailer for rent and I'm dying in the van and I've got to sell this other shitty van before it kills me.
This is all bullshit. The fuckers stealing peter to pay paul the car companies that built this shitty van are asking for money? Fuck them. They can't build a car worth a shit.
I'm pissed. In general. And I'm not healthy and I'm not playing the guitar. this fuck ass job. Awful. I can't wait to quit. Then I'm going south. I don't care.
How are you dealing?