Vacancy Required

I'm applying for yet another job when the supervisor appears behind me. I hasten to inform him that this is my sixteenth but he's not at all satisfied. When he speaks, the words fall into place and hang there, creating a sort of echo that I almost believe I could touch.

"Not good enough, sonny."

He's breathing down the back of my neck, a red trail of burning shame. And fire, of course. I know now, I should never have derided folks for being unemployed. Finding a job is hell -- even, as it turns out, in Hell.