Hunch-Backed Woman

The noise of workers at the construction site nearby awoke me. It is hard to believe at even this time of night there are so many out there tasking away. One of them left me some food and a little cash. Since it is the weekend, and there is a bus that leaves late for the market, I should have enough time to collect what I need plus more. A little generosity combined with a little luck, and then I will be in a position to cover my expenses without tasking, without having to ask anything more of anyone.

I might as well try to sleep a little longer outside the doors of the task location but wake-up before they show. If I ever end up finding out the entry code, I do not want to be the natural suspect.

The thought of having gone from sleeping indoors with permission and a pillow to laying on a concrete slab between a construction site and a church astounds me. At least these have been, undeniable, perfect summer nights for sleeping and I have had plenty of the meds I smuggled across the border.

As usual, it is doubtful I will collect anything at the morning task. I am so fed up with the task. But I must go to the noon task; it is Friday. They have to give me something. They have to. My attempt at a profitable investment being a failure is the reason I am here, once more, obligated to the task.

There is no where in the Universe where I could attract money to myself easier than where I just left. But things change. I did not have to leave. I am not sure why I did. The money I could attract there was limited yet so accessible. Here I can potentially make more, but at the cost of effort and sleeping outdoors.

Even catching the bus remains an uncertainty. The noon task begins around the time the last bus leaves for the market. I will have to hope someone will give me something well before the task. Oh, how I wanted to stay up north, at least until the winter. Just like my trip east, I never know if I am making bad decisions or am the victim of fate".

I collected just enough for the trip to the market, just in time. If l had waited for additional funds, I would not have made it. I appreciate the fact this market at least gives a free meal for coming. I risked and lost my base capital after nor being satisfied with only a twenty percent profit. My meds are gone, so I will just pursue my pursuits until the last bus leaves. This sickening cycle of tasking, collecting and seeking independence from the very same process starts again.

I miss my comfy, indoor sleeping spot up north. I often think of their amazing libraries. But what I rue most of all is giving up the ease of attracting money there. I must learn the ropes of wise marketing here. I could accumulate a ton, but would be content with just enough to be completely free of the task. Once I return to the market in the mountains, the Captain will be impressed by my newly acquired business acumen. I may even have enough to reimburse him someday.

After a harrowing effort of tasking and collecting, today I made a 175% profit and am on the way to capital accumulation if I restrain my medicinal expenses a tad. I am not yet sure if I should try to reinvest the profit at the classier market later, if I am not too tired. Though, it may be better to accumulate more first. If doubled, through a brokered transaction, what I have would be sufficient for a seat at the collaborator's table. I am fed up with risking everything all at once. I am trying to take things slow like the Captain taught me.

I have decided to preserve my base capital and avoid any further risk this time. At the very least, I am assured of returning tomorrow without the stress of potentially failing to collect enough from the task in time. I am finally starting to internalize the primary lesson the Captain tried to impart: you are always a winner if you simply conserve your principal sum.

I will not even risk my capital at the more upscale market, as I should have done with my profits last night. Although I do not have enough for a tip for the bus host, that's acceptable. I still have my capital intact. If I were to reinvest and lose even a trifle, I will be tempted to chase my losses until I am left with nothing but a struggle tomorrow.

Writing allows one to confront difficult questions. Tonight, I asked myself, "If I'm so attached to the market by the shore, why don't I simply remain here?" The answer, I realized, lies in the surrounding town's unsavory character. Moreover, I can't collect much from the task locations, frequented primarily by the parsimonious. Consequently, I bear the cost of a return ticket to the metropolis night after night.

However, tasking and collecting have become so challenging that I might as well stay here or explore the city west of the rolling hills, despite its notorious reputation. Is it wanderlust driving me? If collection proves difficult in the big city, it's likely worse elsewhere. I've allotted myself just over a month to continue, so I should at least attempt new approaches. Routine has become stagnating.

Without the burden of return fare, I finally have nearly enough for the collaborator's table. I once overheard a friend of the Captain declare that he never factors in the return cost for a marketing trip, saying, "You're going there to make money, aren't you?" I admire his optimistic, cavalier attitude. I'll explore for a while, even if I can't return immediately. This compels me to conduct transactions far more prudently than I have recently.I'm mildly peckish and would like to enjoy this café's amenities. The new marketing strategy, however, demands that I exercise economy as well.

If not all my hopes and dreams for a life independent of the task being crushed were not enough with the inability to regain a seat on the bus to the market were not enough, I lost my the charger to my laptop. Now I cannot even document my woes. Without a means to power up. I am left with nothing to justify my existence. I cannot collect enough to go to the market and make money. The money I collect without marketing leaves me hardly anything for food or medication. Cash has almost disappeared from circulation. Someone in my position either wakes in the morning, smiles or begins to fade away. I have not found anything to smile about lately.

I just saw a woman as hunched-over as the Captain. I wonder if they ended up that way from sleeping on concrete or on cramped market buses night after night. My own shoulders and neck have reached an unprecedented state of tightness and pain. It is unbearable. Even pain-relievers do not help. I think it started after I lugged away those enormous jars of peanut butter and jelly from the kitchen of the place of the task. There is some small comfort in the fact that four dollars remain in my wallet, meaning I only need to scrape together six more for tomorrow. I feel I can no longer keep my eyes open, yet I keep trying, delaying the moment when I must leave the café and face my concrete bed. It was difficult to write anything when life was perfect.