July 18, 2007
I completed the temporary agency's skill assessment test and stared out the window at Tampa's skyscrapers in the distance. They appeared brown, like the dried blood on a scab. My interviewer probed me with friendly light-blue eyes and revealed she is into creative writing as well. So I figured it wouldn't be so bad to continue a profession that doesn't necessarily align with my preference, and just continue to build on them outside of work. On the way back home something struck me. The first words out of my head, "Oh shit!" repeatedly. I saw him running. I lost it.