Day 2 of unemployment. The radiation cast off by the meteorite has already mutated the inhabitants. I've grown a thick, fleshy antenna like appendage from the back of my head while others have been rendered insane by this overpowering need to work. "Work," they say. They sound like Zombies on a death march, but they leave anyone without a job alone. I once saw them tear a middle manager from limb to limb because he smelled promising. It was gruesome but I'd be lying if didn't say I'd give anything to have traded positions with that son of a bitch. To die employed, how noble!
I have no plans except to go out daily and brave the cold streets and search for a job. There are days when I fear I may fall into one of the many crevices created by the meteorite. The depths are full of sweet smoke, a cross between fresh bread and warm chocolate. Something is going on down there is those blind depths. When I put my ear near to the opening I hear metal on metal in regular intervals, like something is being pounded together. One day, if things don't improve, I may go down there myself to investigate but for now I stay landside.
It's my hope that besides dying with a job, my fleshy appandege---Bernie, I named it after my favorite movie---will become useful to me. I hope it becomes magical but I'll be happy if it leads me to a job.
This is Neil
---over and out.
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