The desperate man

His son is hungry but doesn't complain, that is his boy. Brave and modest, but in spite of everything is still the best student in the class.

His wife is reaching her limit. Since she got sick she feels she is not contributing to the family. Her skin is sickly pale, the only make up on her face are the dark circles underneath her eyes.

Pjotr is witnessing a total collapse of a once typical, happy suburban family. The recession has not only destroyed the countries economy but the recession has also destroyed his family. In times where everyone is tightening their belts, junior investors are not really wanted on the job market. Actually he held on to his job even longer than his colleagues, but in the end, losing his job was inevitable.

Nowadays every last penny he comes up with goes exclusively for food, but it is not enough. House is on sale for six months now, but no one is buying. Simply, no one has the money now. The power company will probably cut out the electricity next month. He will have to figure out something by then.

Since he sold his car long time ago, he gets up quite early to make it on time to the city.
"In time" funny concept for an unemployed person, but some habits die hard.

"Good morning, my name is Pjotr, are you by any chance looking for workers?" - that has been Pjotr's usual line for six months now. The same line he used today when he entered a small bakery. A baker who has already fired two of his employees last month due to bad business, looked at a boney figure standing in front of his counter. The potential new employee was wearing a suit that was at least two sizes bigger than it should have been and his desperate eyes were more suited for a junkie than for an honest man.
"I am sorry sir but I am not looking for any help. We have just laid off some people. Times are tough, mister. I cannot help you. Did you happen to ask at the dry cleaners two blocks to the north, maybe they are looking for someone"
"It is alright sir. I hope business picks up for you soon." - Pjotr was slightly intoxicated by the smell of freshly baked bread and pastries, so he turned toward the exit real slowly. On his way out he wondered if he should ask for a free bread. The owner seems nice, maybe he would comply.

But in the end, he left the store silently. Pjotr's family needs income not mercy.
Baker's rejection didn't sit too hard on Pjotr. He was used to it by now. If he calculated it correctly it was a sad milestone, three hundredth rejection. And the dry cleaners that the baker mentioned, Pjotr was there 3 days ago, no luck.
Pjotr wandered the streets of the city, thinking that he probably exhausted all possibilities here. But where to go, who to ask for help. Both he and his wife are orphans and friends are a rare commodity these days. Pjotr's family is all alone in this inhospitable world.

Having no idea where to ask for a job, Pjotr was headed to the docks. Few times before they have already given him a few coins to help with loading and unloading the warehouses and ships. To shorten his route to the docks Pjotr passed by the abandoned steel factory which was now home to small-time crooks, drug dealers and all other members of the underground. Pjotr with his looks melted with the inhabitants of the steel factory perfectly. He looked like he belonged there.

Wind crawled underneath Pjotr's clothes. It sure was a cold winter day. He stopped for a couple of minutes near the barrel that was being used as a fire pit, to warm his hands a bit.

Pjotr was enjoying the heat of a barrel with three more lost souls.

"Do you need some greens, man?"- a tall bearded guy was clearly talking to Pjotr.

"I don't smoke weed, I am just here to warm my hands. Is that a problem?"

"Stupid suit, I ain't talking weed. I have a business proposition for you. I've got some heat on me, so I am staying low, but the business must be conducted. If you catch what I am saying? I know you're clean, I've seen you here before, only to warm up a bit. But cause you're here means you ain't great on money either. I could use a clean pair of hands. So are you in?"

Pjotr's eyes turned to the fire. He remained silent. Pjotr recognized that this was one of the moments that shapes persons life. He stood before a choice of Shakespearian proportions - "To agree, or not to agree?"

He took his time, taught about the consequences, about the morality of the proposition, he remembered Sunday school's lesson on right and wrong. As he was about to politely reject the offer an image of an empty dinner table pierced his mind like a bullet.

Truly, what choice does he have?