By Peter Hitchmough
Everything I have worked for I have lost. How can I work more than forty hours a week and still have my home taken from me? Two years back sub prime meant nothing to me; now I wish I never heard them. I feel sick in my stomach when I think of the kids. The bank still sits all splendid down on 9th St.
I’ve got a gun. Maybe I’ll go and find a convenience store and get me some cash. Maybe I’ll make and end of the kids and me. Maybe I’ll throw it in the river. God help me.
I’m hoping this fictional and not autobiographical.
I’m afraid you might end up on an episode of Most Shockin “Dummest criminals”
You’ve got a gun and you hate the banks but you plan to rob a convenience store? Where’s the justice in that? Shoot a banker.
” Maybe I’ll make and end of the kids and me.”
do you mean AN end of the kids?