661. Cross The Line

He had the power in his hands, but the hands stayed still. Potential employees are near.

The clock on the wall ticked away eight hours. A lady sits in the waiting room for eight, but the work is done in three. Three clients. Three hours of real sweat. The rest is just waiting for the day to die. It is a slow way to bleed a life.

The mind grows heavy in the quiet. They call it clinical depression now, giving a grand name to the gray weight in the chest. It is not an acceptable end. A woman is made for pleasure. The intercom calls, "Ladies, line up."

They stood in a row, waiting under the sharp lights. It was a clean line. There was no use in pretending anymore. There can only be one, the work was short, and the end of the shift was coming on fast.

P.S.

It takes discipline

Hard work

And mental illness

To do this