Here's the deal, every once in a while, I hit a roadblock. It seems like today is one of those days. My mind is going in all of the wrong places. I feel a little paralyzed and would like to withdraw from the rat race. The rats are winning today.
It's the type of day where "Who Moved My Cheese?" feels more like "Who Ate My Cheese?". I am being honest brutally honest. There's doubt plenty of self doubt. I need a photo; something to jar me from this rut. I have a few marquis shots. Let me share them with you.
These are the men who use to feed me. I cared about them and I tried to tell their story. They work hard and their lives will never be as good as mine (so I think). Their children I hope will have it better. Just like my dad made it better for me.
They labor for minimum wages. Their jobs are full of peril. The safety signs are all in English. Some signs read, "If you can't be safe here, you can't work here." It's a shame that they are not in Spanish. I guess if you can't read the sign you are screwed. We need you to work though. They need to work to feed their families.
It's not uncommon to see families working together: brothers, sisters, cousins, uncles, mothers and fathers. They are proud of their work, need their jobs, and work hard.
Look beneath the masks and safety goggles. Tell me if you don't see the noblemen who toil.
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