May 31, 2007
Tom shipped his dog in advance. Taped it in, knocked out, shot up, the dog is slumped in a corner, asleep. Tom thinks the working class is hopeless. He gives raises in twenty five cent increments. His properties are located on islands where the greater populace lives below government defined poverty levels. Tom doesn’t mind. He believes they made a choice to be poor. He figures if they didn’t like Service, Janitorial, Entertainment, they’d find other employment. Tom’s parents love him. They treat his dog like a grandson. The dog dreams of green, endless fields and wild stands of trees.