thomsedavi

I was hoping to get a decent tour through Hell on the way to Subcutaneous, maybe even see examples of real torture in progress or instances of people suspended in cages of bone above rivers of lava, but the elevator goes directly to the heart of the department store. I guess it makes sense that I didn't have to go through Hell to get here, since the elevator is only really there to take workers to and from the department store. Subcutaneous itself only exists in the first place because the sheer transdimensional power of capitalism compels it to; capitalism would put a Starbucks in Mordor, if it could. The elevator opens onto a shiny white a

Hell is just a little way down from this small wayward town I'm stuck in. When I say a little way 'down', I don't mean literally; it's more of a theological direction, nothing to do with the physical relationship between these two locations. But having said that, you do have to take an elevator to get there. Actually it's more of a tram, no elevator would have the capacity to move forty or so workers to Hell in the morning and back again in the evening. Picture an old tram where the seats are stacked on top of each other rather than forward in a row. Something like that. This is my first trip into Hell. When I had my interview, the assistant

Sometimes when you're at the very bottom of the world, the only way to go is down. This is the truth I was faced with when I found myself unemployed, unqualified, inexperienced and unconnected in a small, wayward town of no ambition. I'm not really that unemployable a person, I've met far worse, but when people can only appraise you on face value and your face is not one you could incorporate into your very short list of assets, it can be hard to get so much as a toe in the door, let alone a foot. That comment about my face is misleading; it implies that my looks are disadvantageous to me in some way, which they are not. But a slightly belo