The Great Depression

Many people looking at me would assume that I was rummaging for food, when in reality I was actually picking up the yard in front of my house, no I didn’t live in the run down apartment building behind the picket fence, I lived in the flimsy cardboard, stolen drapery, rummaged scraps in the empty lot that was my home. I do not feel proud of where I am, and I’m not proud of where I came from. Once an honest businessman who helped the poor, desperate, and lonely, I now find myself in the very ranks of the people that I helped. In the run down streets of once provishing streets full of laughing children, prosperous couples, and smiling faces, I live with my brother. I never was supposed to be here, we’re supposed to trust our banks, but here I am building up barriers so I don’t lose what is left of my life, so that I don’t have to brawl with another woman and her brother. After I lost all of my settlements and went bankrupt on my grocery store, my wife took my kids and went to live with her parents. She looked down on me, she was used to living in upscale places and refused to let our own children live in a less than proper home. What was left of our accounts she took with her, even what was left from my father’s will for me when he shot himself after the stock market crashed. I now live with my brother, we alternate between the empty lot and soup kitchens throughout the day, trying to administer first aid when we get in a fight with once good friends of ours over posessions, land, and property. Life was never supposed to be like this, and the economy never was supposed to either. How will we get out of this?


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