Chapter One: This is New Harmony?

'You do that plate wash quick! or no money for cwismas bonas!! you understand Charlie??!'', the voice of Mr. Chang rang throughout the ugly and unsanitary kitchen of the small chinese restaurant. The thing that bothered Charlie the most, which could of been any of the plethora of things wrong with his current life situation, was that sense of superiority, that arrogance that Mr. Chang had. He looked at Charlie like a lazy piece of trash, and treated him as such. Paid him like an intern and made him work long hours. Charlie wasn't exactly thrilled with this situation, but unfortunatley, he had nothing else going for him at that time. He had no money, no wealth, no immediate prospect of a higher lifetyle, and his last girlfriend of three months left him, for not having the amazing condo in uptown Harmony. His own insecurities had caused him to lie to his rich socialite ex about his social class, leading to the ultimate ending of his previous high living, that of sipping champagne, eating expensive caviar above a yacht in Ibiza, and ultimately resulting in the unfortunate situation at Mr. Chang's noodle box, the ugly cheap  restaurant in the middle of Chinatown. But he would scrub those damn dishes, because there was only ten minutes left on the clock, and the crappy money he would make would be exactly that, his. He would get home to his studio apartment a few streets over, lie down and eat the noodles he technically got for free for putting up with Chang's treatment. So he scrubbed and he scrubbed hard. Charlie Hanson at twenty five years old, was virtually broke, with no friends in the world, srubbing dishes for an old a*****e of a boss. This was a new low. 

The shift was over and he walked down Pi Xiang street. It was dark and he had forgotten his jacket at the apartment, the cold breeze chilled him down to his bones. He reached a barely lighten lamp post, and a groggy looking apartment building. He could hear the sound of all his neighbours voices, all of them Asians, clamouring about, children crying, women nagging and men yelling. All they did most nights were keep him up anyway. He walked up, tired and cold to the fifth floor of the building. He entered his trusty studio apartment, cold as sin since had left the window open before leaving. He hadn't even the money to buy a decent bed, he slept on a cot in the only bedroom. Brushing his teeth and taking off his pants, he threw himself on his unmade bed and covered himself. After a 12 hour work day like this, all Charlie Hanson could think, was one thing and one thing only:

God I f*****g hate being poor.