Delightful story about Black Friday and how it all began!
Meet George Black.
George was ordinary guy. A guy who put in his 40 hours (plus or minus) slaving away at a dead-end job, in some soul-sucking factory where he polished widgets. Day in and day out, George clocked in and clocked out. Mind numbing drudgery. At the end of the week he’d collect his pay, a pittance that only Scrooge McDuck would make stretch far enough.
George lived alone. His “place” was a dingy room in a rent by the week hotel, one that catered to transients and bootleggers. Every evening, George came home and collapsed in an old recliner and watched the homeless forage through the dumpsters behind the bus station. When the diesel fumes wafted under the warped windowsill and made his eyes water, George retreated to the hotplate and warmed a can of whatever he found on the dented shelf at the corner market. He swore…
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