It's a done day at another blistry cold evening at the trainyard in Detroit. You see all the people who work in the warm building walking outside, now realizing that it's cold. But you know it's well for yourself, it's your type of weather. You worked this shit job since May of this year, sweating you balls off during the summer, for this miserable minimum wage job. You see all those people smiling as they leave to home, spending time with there families. But you, it's different. You go home to a small home filled with seven family members. You live with your mom, three younger brothers and a mentally disabled couple that happen to be your aunt and her boyfriend. You share a room with your youngest brother, the second brother of yours has his own room due to marriage of a almost thirtysomething woman. You hated going home each day, you would go there to sleep, if you could. You could go to the bar, but it's too much money to go drinking. The gas rates are sky-high, it's hard to keep going 25 miles there and back, six days a week. You haven't got everyone there presents. In fact, you didn't even start. No more cash, you don't get paid until after New Years Day.
Is it going to get any better? It doesn't seem so. Although you broke, you did spend some money on buying an illegal firearm. In fact, it's nearby you. It's in your locker. So, the question is, should you? If not, unless a stroke of luck happeds, or if Ed McMahon comes by with that million dollar check, your retarted ass is going to be working at some shit job, getting the bare minimum, living with family that does not respect you. You shouldn't exist any longer?
You feel the warm aura from the steam and heat, the machines are off, but that stupid-ass christmas music is flowing. That is just what you need, the same five songs over and over, with different singers and tempos. The music is coming from the break area with all of the lockers. Two men are getting on regular clothes, talking about how there folks are coming to there homes. And how they hate it. But they have a choice, you don't. You stuck at home. Frosty the snowman's thumpity thump thump comes on as you input the right combo for the locker to open. On the top compartment is you empty lunch box and a dead bowl of the cheapest mac and cheese that you scarffted down. The gun is next to it, already loaded and raring to go. You take the gun and before you decide to use the first bullet on yourself, instead, two of them are blasted at the radio. No more Frosty the Snowman.
It scared the hell out of the two men. You see them wonder and quiver in fear. You sight turns to the two men, they believe next that you are a looney new person gone bad. You put the gun to you temple to not hesitate to pull the trigger.
No more pain and suffering. But you died a virgin. How wrong... And if you believe in reincarnation, you can pass on you tortured soul to some other unlucky bastard.