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He spent the day searching for bodies in the ash and rubble. 122 townhomes destroyed. I brushed ash, dirt and what I hope was sheet rock from his forehead. "I just had to take a break and wash all this out of my lungs." he said, as he dropped his clothes on the porch and headed for the shower. Exhasted, he once again dressed in his uniform and headed back out to start it all over again. I don't know how he does this. I don't know how he survives it.

It's not like I didn't know how the misfortune of so many ended up to be money in my pocket. It's true, these days my bills are getting paid because so many have lost their homes to foreclosure. It breaks my heart to know that because of the economy (thanks Mr. Obama) my work ends up to be their loss. I do not default on their loans, I'm simply the person inbetween the paperwork who makes it possible for others to find a brand new beginning to their lives. And that's the way I have to look at it. Otherwise, I'd curl up in the corner and start poping my own spit bubbles.