I want to write, and I feel utterly empty. I feel utterly empty, so I want to write even more. In this age of rampant materialism, who can avoid bowing to the smell of money? In this ugly world steeped in prejudice against the poor, who isn't on their knees, gathering up the scraps of dignity scattered across the floor? Don't look down on anyone who works hard. We've all been trading since the day we were born. In essence, we're all just trading one thing for another
