I’m fucked. It will get worse. You know, life as usual.
Follow me as I choose which medicines I can afford, whether or not I can eat, and when I will sleep on the street and risk my safety.
Poverty and homelessness affect what I can buy and reduce the life span of things I own.
I made money demonstrating a low-quality pendulum wave.
If you don’t like my interpersonal behavior, mgbe i nwere nsogbu, not I.
You broke the social contract.
Ma ọ nwere a cognitive nkwarụ ma ọ bụ na ọ bụ ya bụ nanị a jọgburu onwe onye, ịtụwa ka anyị kwere na ọ ga-akwado m na-agbake.
taa, an opportunity to become self-sufficient again unexpectedly appeared.
Supporting my recovery is less expensive than supporting my suffering.
Why do I help people who try to rob me?