What’s it all about?
That’s what I try to figure out.
I mean when do you say, enough’s enough, this is where I’ll stay, this is where I’m settling.
I’m gonna Google the end of the line and see how many people have reached it.
Hmm. Twenty-six million people.
Well, maybe not all of them. Some of these might actually be real sites like with info on train stations or travel destinations. Places that offer busy travelers and commuters a place to go; little in-between stops on the end of the line before the last stop comes.
Flying off to some exotic destination, Mr. Sampain, I see? Care for a cocktail, or two? Maybe three?
Some of the others sites might really be getting closer to the end of the line. Websites offering deals for nursing homes and funeral plots at discount prices.
It’s always interesting to see the competition for my death.
No. I’m not talking about that end, but the one where you say to yourself, I’m done chasing my dreams, I reached the end of the line, and this is my life now.
It takes me back to that song by the Talking Heads. The one that talks about letting the days go by. Like where did my life go, how did I end up with children, responsibilities, and the unbearable weight of financial irresponsibility that has become my life.
I’m sorry, Mr. Sampian, but we can’t take this card.
I’m sorry, Mr. Sampain, but we’re gonna have to foreclose on the house.
Hey, Mike, can you step into my office for a minute?
They don’t come to my face anymore. They just send letters. Demands. Payments. I feel it’s more like tribute to a God that has grown out of control and no longer is satisfied with my debtor’s soul, but has come for blood.
But I got that sold now. I hit the local Plasma Center twice a week and make some cash. That’s a bonus right now. It helps with the petty cash flow for cigarettes, Red Bulls, Starbucks and the occasional nickel sack.
The weed helps me zone out when I’m writing blogs or wasting away on a MMRPG.
I’m glad I live in California now. I don’t think I’d survive in this economy if it weren’t for the hustle-oriented nature that is Los Angeles. These well-traveled streets offer money at every corner if you know what game is going on.
Hit Hollywood and Highland and you have levels of hustlers from the mega-giant superchains towering over the streets, while below tour peddlers compete against desperate, tone deaf performers, drug addled impersonators whose Spiderman outfit smells like two-year-old beer sweat, wide-eyed Christian cultists, and travelling beggars on their way to a bottle and a quick trip to Slo-town to catch the next freight out.
No, I’m not one these types of hustlers. I’m part of the new breed. A fresh group of bottom feeders looking for the bare minimum way to etch out a living while still trying to avoid reaching the end of the line.
Wake up, Mike Sampain. It’s the first of the month.
That’s when my new battle cry, my new rise to action, my new wave of hustle and flow begins. It’s where the diaper money comes from, the money to just barely keep the cell phones on, pay the rent, and eat some really-bad-for-you frozen foods, the healthcare to cover the diabetic costs from eating that garbage, and, after all that, from what’s leftover, I try to make more money.
That’s how I got into trying to make money online. This is my story.
