A city that wants to eat them alive, chew them up, and spit them out
I am more than an online worker. I am a woman who loves to write. I paint pictures with words. Sometimes they are beautiful like a painting by Monet. Other times, my words slide off the page in a poor imitation of Salvador Dali. Before I turn 45, I will go to a bookstore, find my novel, and lovingly run my fingers along its spine. I know I will. I am more than a faceless worker. I am a mother raising her brood in a shiny, neon city. A city that wants to eat them alive, chew them up, and spit them out. My son’s friends have discovered the nightmare that is black tar heroine. I pray they never draw him into their twisted world. Hawkers stand on the street corners, passing out calling cards for women who have sex for money. Red, blue, green, purple lights but twenty-four hours a day on the street where tourists come to play. They do things here they would never do at home and expect that the natives will never tell. But we do tell, some even take pictures and sell them to the highest bidder. How sad for all of us but this is the case. I am more than a mechanical turk. I am a person of integrity who winces at the lies and twisted schemes of this world and those who prepetuate them. I look after people who have less than me. I smile before I am smiled at. It’s my way. I want more from my world, more love, more compassion, more honesty, more fun. I want less from my world, less poverty, less hunger, less greed, less pain. I don’t know if I will these things come to pass. It what I pray for behind closed doors. I ask God for more and for less. I’ll always pray.
