I stopped off at a local hole-in-the-wall pub, called Last Call and figured I’d be there til just that..Last Call. The night before I had met a guy...named Frank who kept buying me drinks and I felt obliged to go home with him. He promised to buy me dinner and a cab fare home and a few “extra dollars” because he “liked me so much.” That’s not prostitution. Is it? Hell, I didn’t care anymore. Money is all green and it spends the same, no matter if I fuck my boss or fuck a bar stool friend, right?. Since eighty percent of my job is maintaining the equipment and keeping it running I have to be there when the presses run to fix anything that breaks down. The other side of the coin is that I can’t do maintenance and repairs when the machines are running. The company is death on paying overtime so I have had to set up a schedule that would allow me to do my job and still hold my hours down to forty. Basically, I put in from fourteen to sixteen hours on Tuesday – from 3 AM until the presses. More

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