it was six o'clock and he was home; I remember the taste in my mouth that day; it was grey and dull; all familiar to me;

after a long course of job hunt he had finally found one; before I had often seen him look for a job at those moments he was using the internet whilst we were having coffee;

all the jobs he would find on the ads where enough to feel dull; jobs that paid very little;

jobs that reduced you to the point where you could not afford to pay the rent and eat;

let alone those little travelings we did desire so much; we had done a couple of them and I could just remember every thing but most of all I could recall that feel of breathing; that lack of grey taste in your tongue; time went well whilst on traveling; and we both liked them;

he had finally found a place as a waiter that paid as much as a regular job, a job where yet you could not afford to pay the rent and support yourself; this one was different from the others where they paid you a quarter of the salary because the owner thought that the waiter would get tips afterwards; I remember the day he had seen it he had come to me ,explaining that he would find a job;

well it had not been the case, he came and he told me that there were no clients on the hotel he was working, therefore no tips; he would just be paid like every one else, a minimum salary where he could not afford the rent and support himself;

he was also complaining that he had been standing all the day as he was not allowed to sit and I could see the veins in his legs swollen; it all was scene that made an impact on me; we have the power to create I thought; we could have broken the chain and create laughter in this city; it was not for us; we had not wanted this for ourselves; we had not used our creativity, our reasoning capabilities, our imagination, our will;

he would go on speaking and speaking…as I tasted more and more that grey dust with my tongue; it was thick and rigid like a poisoned toothpaste;