roling to the success

Received: from nobody by stodi.digitalkingdom.org with local (Exim 4.87) (envelope-from ) id 1cPXGA-0000jI-8b for lojban-newreal@lojban.org; Fri, 06 Jan 2017 08:20:54 -0800 Received: from [192.3.206.229] (port=42584 helo=lovethisincome.com) by stodi.digitalkingdom.org with esmtp (Exim 4.87) (envelope-from ) id 1cPXG5-0000iP-4Y for lojban@lojban.org; Fri, 06 Jan 2017 08:20:53 -0800 Date: Fri, 06 Jan 2017 09:45:28 -0700 Content-Transfer-Encoding: 7bit Content-Type: text/html; charset=us-ascii Mime-Version: 1 Subject: Congrats from Mark Cuban: He selected you for this amazing project earning 6K-monthly (24414120) To: From: "Claudia Mullins" Message-ID: <7024414120d_24414120_24414120.lojban@lojban.org03o> X-Spam-Score: -0.4 (/) X-Spam_score: -0.4 X-Spam_score_int: -3 X-Spam_bar: / roling to the success

Congrats From
Mark Cuban

I have chosen you for my new business-project

(1) New Position - Earn 6k monthly by accepting
I have been working on this exciting project for awhile now and thought you would be a perfect fit. You can do it all from home while literally making a fortune.

-Mark Cuban

Accept the position - Here are the details

I He looked horrified. He had no understanding of drug culture or the way it worked and, like a lot of men of his generation, was a little bit scared of it truth be told. For that reason, I dont think hed ever really grasped how bad my situation had been when Id been at my lowest ebb on heroin. Hed seen me during that period, but, like all addicts, I had learned to keep that side of my life hidden when necessary. I immediately worked out what they were doing. The smaller one was waving a single copy of The Big Issue around, stopping people, collecting money but never handing over the magazine. They were running a scam called One Booking, in which vendors used a single, outofdate magazine to generate a string of sales. Each time someone handed over some money, the seller would come out with some sob story about it being their last copy and being in particularly dire straits. It was begging, basically. There was no other word for it. I was always amazed that anyone fell for it. But there were always a few gullible or maybe generous souls around. I was worried that they were heading in our direction. Sure enough, they were soon outside the tube station entrance, with the smaller of the pair approaching travellers on the edge of the steps. It was blindingly obvious he wasnt an official seller. The tabard was ripped to shreds and looked like it had been pulled out of a dustbin. It was also missing the official badge that legitimate vendors wore on the left hand side of their vests. As his mate went about his business, the bigger of the two made a beeline for me. He was every bit as aggressive as he looked. Oi, you, get lost, or Ill kill that cat of yours, he said, sticking his big red face close to mine. There was a trace of Irish in his accent and his breath stank of booze. Bob, as always, had spotted the danger and was hissing at him already. I knelt down and got him to climb on my shoulders before there was any trouble. I wasnt going to be intimidated and stuck my ground. Ive got a right to sell here and Ive just got these few magazines to sell, I said. You know what you are doing is wrong. You are nothing but a leech, you are forcing him to beg for you. He didnt like this and warned me again. Youve got two minutes to pack your stuff up and f*** off, he said, temporarily distracted by his mate who was waving to him for some reason. He then pushed his way into the crowds. People were flooding in and out of the station, so I lost them for a few minutes. I knew the score. They were both drug addicts and were only running this scam until they had enough money to head off and fix themselves up. I was hoping that his mates signal indicated that theyd hit their target and were going to disappear. No such luck. In hardly any time, the big guy reappeared, looking even angrier than before. He was literally frothing at the mouth and spitting out expletives. Didnt you hear what I told you? he snarled. The next thing I knew he had hit me. He just walked up to me and punched me on the nose. It happened so fast, I didnt even see him pull back his arm. He just jabbed a giant fist into my face. I didnt have a hope of deflecting the blow. What the hell? I said, backpedalling, Bob hanging on for dear life. When I drew my hand away from my face I could see that it was covered in blood. It was gushing out and my nose felt like it had some broken cartilage in there. I decided it wasnt a fight I could . There was no sign of the Police so I was on my own against a pretty nasty pair of individuals. Working on the streets was risky, I knew that. But there were times when it was downright dangerous. Id heard stories of Big Issue sellers being killed. There had been a case up in Norwich where two or three guys set about a vendor there and kicked him to death. I really didnt want to add to the statistics. Come on, Bob, lets get out of here, I said, grabbing my stuff and heading off. I felt a mix of anger and despair. I was desperate for a change in my fortunes. I didnt think I could take much more of this life. But, try as I might, I couldnt see how on earth I was going to break free. Suddenly all that talk with my father of jobs and training seemed ridiculous, a complete pipe dream. Who was going to pay a recovering junkie a decent salary? Who was going to hire someone with a curriculum vitae as barren as the Australian outback where I spent part of my childhood? On that day, feeling as low as I did, the answer was as plain and bloody obvious as the nose on my face: no one.

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