12:50 p.m. - 2001-12-25
work
that�s the shape of the whole story.
one cold dry night as I came back from work riding in the van through the various hotels and roads and kitchens and neighbourhoods of our country, the van ferrying the few aunties and middle-aged uncles and two rare teenaged kids back to their peaceful homes in the swallowing suburbs which enveloped everything up with its corridoors of streetlamps and coffeshops and empty void decks.
and then the van stopped at the trafficlights in the lonely night and another van pulled up beside it.
the driver rolled down his windows and called out to his friend. another van ferrying workers back to their homes.
I thought about how every night, workers would be ferried back to their homes exhausted but happy about the dollars in their hands. work is not satisfying in itself. I would not be here if not for the money. really, come to think of it, I was sitting outside the 7-11 eating my microwaved pizza and drinking mineral water with a few cockcroaches in the middle of 3 am. when I could be back home sleeping with my blanket hugged over me and dreaming another dream.
