Charles woke in a start and glanced over at his clock. The big red numbers advertised the fact that it was 6:59 a.m., one minute before the alarm was set to sound. Annoyed by the fact that he had been robbed of several more seconds of precious sleep, Charles nevertheless dragged himself out of bed and made his way to the shower.
This was going to be a big day. Having recently graduated from college, Charles was going to spend the entire day pounding the pavement in search of his dream job. Of course, he had absolutely no clue what that job may be, but considering he was the proud owner of a brand new B.A. degree in psychology, he was certain that high-paying job offers would come rolling in soon, certainly no later than the end of the week.
After a quick shower and bowl of cereal, Charles brushed his teeth and dressed in his finest pair of khaki pants and an only-slightly-frayed denim shirt. No sense in dressing up too much; after all, potential employers needed to understand right from the start that they were going to be getting a down-to-earth guy who couldn't be bothered with suits and ties.
Charles gathers together his stack of résumés and heads out of the door towards his future. First stop, Main Street.
. . . . . . . .
Forty-five minutes later, and Charles had had about enough. It was bad enough that several potential employers actually wanted him to fill out APPLICATIONS (as if the owner of a college psychology degree was not instantly qualified for practically any job in the world), but some places actually had the nerve to inform him that they required experience or more specialized training! "Give me a break," Charles thought. "How hard can it be to insert breast implants?"
Realizing that perhaps some PlayStation and pizza might help clarify his life's mission, Charles began covering the familiar ground back towards his apartment. Suddenly, a sweet voice called to him, asking him if he could spare a moment to offer his assistance. Charles looked up and saw a well-dressed woman that appeared to be in her mid-40s, standing in the door of a . . .
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