Thirty-Five years ago, I was one of the unhappiest lads in New York. I was selling motortrucks for a living. I didn’t know what made a motor-truck run. That wasn’t all: I didn’t want to know. I despised my job. I despised living in a cheap furnished room on West Fifty-sixth Street-a room infested with cockroaches. I still remember that I had a bunch of neckties hanging on the walls; and when I reached out of a morning to get a fresh necktie, the cockroaches scattered in all directions. I despised having to eat in cheap, dirty restaurants that were also probably infested with cockroaches. I came home to my lonely room each night with a sick headache a headache bred and fed by disappointment, worry, bitterness, and rebellion. I was rebelling because the dreams I had nourished back in my college days had turned into nightmares. [download]
Format : Ebook.Pdf
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