Out of Luck
Sitting here on this corner I find my self-wondering is this what has become of our great nation. Days go by, and all we think about is if there will be any food waiting on us at home or at the soup kitchens and bread lines. We think to our selves is our government not going to help us or are they going to sit on there hills as the land blows away, and more and more of us lose our jobs?
Every morning I wake up hoping that this was just a bad dream and it will all be back to the way it was before. But I know that as soon as I open my eyes that reality will strike and it will not be a dream. I get up and put on my blue jeans and white shit and wonder through my so called house made out of what I have been able to gather, a few nails some cardboard some wood and insulation on the walls of news paper. We sleep on the floors, which are also covered with paper and use what we can find for good covers. I look around the shack for what I have to spear to sell or trade to but I have already sold most of our possessions. I leave early in the morning after seeing the kids in there peaceful sleep. (David D. Surviving)
Walking out side I see the red haze in the air from the dust that is being brought in with the dry winds from the dust storms on the planes. The haze is just a constant reminder of the times that we are in. It is always with you even when you try to lose yourself in some peaceful thoughts it is always their haunting you. I step out of my house and look down the rows of the shantytown it all I can see in eyesight. I start walking to town as I pass by the other shacks there is not much stirring most people asleep trying to escape the thought of what has happened to them in ...