As the debris settles around me; as my head becomes clearer like the white light of morning, I find myself in possession of an airline ticket to India.
Ah, now I remember. That’s where the rent money went.
That’s why I started working in a shipyard. To buy a plane ticket to India, so I could go and sit at the feet of an enlightened master for twelve weeks and take instruction in Advaita Vedanta. The problem is – and has always been – that me and work don’t go well together. I’m not cut out for it. It’s not that I don’t like money: it’s just that I don’t like what you have to do to get it.
So obviously, I quit the job, blew the wages on ludicrous trousers, spent the money for the rent on a plane ticket and then got drunk and set fire to the building.
I mean, who wouldn't?
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