Victoria Williams: 0070

Today is about three-quarters done, but the sun is still up and so am I. Ever since I started working and bought a planner, life has arranged itself into segments of time, and I tick them off as they pass: two hours till the end of my shift, two days till my next day off, two weeks till my long weekend. Oh every month I live for my long weekend (last month: ice-cream sculpting. / this month: cigarette-rolling / next month: quitting smoking). But all this time ticking, and I’d be horrified if I didn’t know, if I didn’t believe, if I hadn’t been told – that all the years a person spends on minimum wage in a lifetime add up to the years they are allotted in the afterlife, before of course you’re exiled and return to mortal form for another round. Actually it’s a complicated system of mathematics that only a chosen few will ever know: but in essence, the more money you have, the less time you need in Nirvana anyway. So say the priests of the chapel installed in the break room.