No time to think of it. It's too late too late , hasten to work. I look around , my room is dark, fine it would be to sleep only a half an hour more. Why isn't' it midnight instead of morning? Of course eight hours spent in a factory are too much. Wash myself and look through the window. It rains again. Whenever I look through the window in the morning it's raining, snowing , or both at the same time.
I walk down the stairs, I walk through the streets to the sub station. In each shop window is a clock, and I look at every one, and every one shows a different time. By all the Prophets, what time is it?
At last arrived to the station, took out my nickel and deposited it with a melancholy look , in the box. Goodbye my nickel I'll never see you again. Clock, time? Seven-thirty. Maybe I'll have enough time to eat breakfast. Train is coming. Second Avenue elevated. Crowded. People lean on me, I lean on them. They look at me with wrath, I look at them with disgust. We all wish the others should get off, in order we could get a seat. I look around in the train. God, how many