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Life Earned

I stood on the queue  in the bank impatiently but almost immediate had to take several steps back . 

Body odour.

Something so despised but probably the biggest indicator of socio-economic status. The man in front of me was radiating a head smashing odour. There were two others in front of him, they probably stank too...who knows? This was overwhelming.

But immediately I regretted moving away , because a closer look at them and I saw life . Their skin dark and burnt by this ungodly sun, yellow-y eyes , bald. All three of them as if they had planned it . Their clothes shabby . And it dawned on me . This is the look of honest men , who had actually earned their living . Literally depositing their daily sweat as investment for tomorrow's bread . Not like me, with my crisp notes in a neat white envelope in my fancy bag. Money I hadn't sweat for . Probably more than they earned in a month . That's my weekly stipend . There , for the first time I smelt my dishonesty, almost completely covered by sweet-smelling privilege. 

I respect that odour that waved off them . It's the confirmation of dough well earned. Hard work . The cost of cleaning your livelyhood may very well rest upon the foulness of the odour of honesty. 




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