illegal immigrants is why I work

juevos means gonads

alright, i work 60 hours a week in a delirious state of existence speaking solamente spanish to come home having to translate my workday in english to those around me. i spend the day thinking about what the hell i'm doing with a college degree and working under the table making the day easier for illegal immigrants being the blunt of their jokes. being the easy boss allowing them to put back beers one after another at the end of the day on the way home. the way home being an hour commute, the transitional hour trying to make sense of the day's activities. i have sacrificed the nine to five routine to work in cental america during the daylight and live in downtown oakland california in the darkened hours.

it's a financial district loft without a neighbor for blocks (despite fast eddie who sleeps behind the fox theater) that i call home and while finding myself in some prime of my life, i might as well be on a farm in the ozarks. it's empty. the dead heart urban countryside come sundown with nothing but ernest tubb and kitty wells records crying about lost love and some amigo's guitar playing south of the border. it's a beautiful sham holding todas las cosas in a broken capitalist system that encourages eating out to save free time and energy and supporting the 24 hour warehouse super mega store that stays open solamente to run the little guys out.

excuses to the boss for taking off early are no longer acceptable, especially if you can't speak english and your family's grocery bill needs you. there is no overtime, taxes will never find their way back, and extra curricular life means one hundred and eighy dollars less a day.

but really, its' none of this i complain about. i am a good worker, i am a music collector, i am accompished, i sleep with my friends, i speak with a goal, and i worry about a million black hispanic eyes that are just looking for something better, just like me.