Based on a true story.  Excuse the one curse word, it is necessary to fit the story.

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5 days a week I drive into an unwelcoming part of town. I go past the same old park on the right and the run down apartments on the left. Truants, transients, hoodlums, alcoholics anonymous, and groups of strange people fill the park. The old man is always sitting out in his chair on the sidewalk every morning. I wonder if he recognizes the same old white car that passes by nearly every day. As I’m getting closer to the parking spots, I am very aware of the people that are around, whether they are gathered at the door of the gym, walking around, or just sitting in their cars. I pull into my spot and sit there for a moment. I always look around before I get out. I shut the doors and quickly lock my car and scurry across the street. I walk on the same old brick path, the one covered with flies. Sometimes I wonder if there’s really a dead body hidden beneath those bricks. Why else would over 50 flies be hovering around and sitting on the bricks every single day. The path goes straight then turns to the right, I always feel a little safer once I turn the corner. Once I’m inside I’m fine. The apartment upstairs used to be a hideout and gathering for druggies. Fallen syringes have been found on the first floor. It’s always so dark and old in here. The carpet is dark brown. The room is dark. Piles of paper, magazines, and junk surround the apartment, never ceasing to move. A dysfunctional TV sits in the corner. We never use the light and cardboard sheets block off the windows. The blinds are dusty. Sometimes I wonder what kind of bugs might be on the floor that I can’t see. Sometimes baby spiders crawl on my desk. The windowsill is left with piles of what the termites left. Touch the cardboard and spiders crawl out. The trashcan is always filled to the brim with food. Sometimes it stinks. Sometimes flies are hovering. Yellow stained ceilings lie above my head. The bathroom isn’t pretty but it’s functional. The tub in the bathroom is covered in a layer of black dust with a dead cockroach lying on its back. Nearly every corner of the floor has a spider and its web. The floor is covered in hair. The toilet seat is cracked and shit stains fill the interior of the toilet. The sink is outside of the bathroom. There are never any paper towels to dry your hands. There are dusty blue towels hanging on the racks. There’s an old company shirt that hangs next to the towels. The kitchen is cramped. The trashcans are always filled with hovering flies, similar but worse than the one in the room. The sink is dirty, filled with old dishes that have been sitting there for days. The sponge has been soaked in the same water for months. The garbage disposal is never used. The refrigerator is filled with foods that are months old just sitting in the back with its juices seeping and mold growing. The chairs at the conference table are old and torn. The closet in the room is filled with junk, papers of all kinds, boxes, and trash. Going to lunch is the best time to get away. Sometimes I like going farther away so that I don’t have to be reminded of where I am. I always try to be wary of who’s around when I step out into the streets. There have been too many instances of disturbing encounters. When going to and from my car I always roll the lanyard around my right hand with it looped in my thumb. This lets me have my keys out so I can get into the car faster. But it also serves as a weapon that I can fling if needed. Sometimes keys are held in a way where the sharp side is sticking out. Sometimes I fear for my life when I have to walk to my car. The streets are filled with a unique group of people. Sometimes I wonder if my car will still be there when I return. People drive at high speeds and don’t obey stop signs. There’s a school across the street, sometimes I wish more kids were around because it makes me feel safer if kids can be outside playing and not worrying. The neighbors are single mothers who have previously been in prison. The dumpsters in the back alley are frequented. When day leaves and night comes, hookers line the streets. Restaurants and stores are run down. It’s surprising if sirens aren’t heard often. It’s surprising if no gunshots are heard. I’ve seen people arguing on the street where one person lifted up his shirt to reveal a concealed weapon tucked into his waistband. The local Subway has bulletproof glass surrounding the counter. Sometimes I see women walking alone in the area and I pray for them. I pray for their safety. I pray for mine. Welcome to my 9 to 5.