Waiting Room

My tooth aches. My rent is past due. My fridge is empty. I am living the American dream, that's for sure. In the last two months, there has been an earthquake in Haiti, another one in Chile and we Californians are still waiting for ours. I just hope it hits when I'm commuting to work, at least it will be a change in my unbelievable boring daily routine. My God, LA is big. Two hours one way to wash dishes and wait on tables and two hours back to my as small as an asshole studio next door to a hooker and a crack head that yell, scream and fight all day and night.
But beats living in Sao Paulo, I guess. When I left Brazil, I believed in the American way of life. I realy thought that if you had the will to pursue your dream, it would eventually come you way. Three years later, I'm not so sure anymore. I mean, I'm good looking enough, I speak this fucking language fluently enough and my dick is hard enough to please any cock sucking producer. But still I'm waiting tables.
Well, I think it is not fair for me to complain. At least I'm not illegal or something like those poor guys I see everyday. Poor bastards always afraid of the Police, always with an eye open for the Migra, as they call the Imigration Officers. Hiding like sewer rats. Taking the shitiest jobs for the shitiest pay.
Maybe someday I'll get tired of all this Hollywood scene and go back to Brazil. at least there, I'll be the guy who made it in Los Angeles (litle they know).
Well, I'm next and if I get this part, things might just begin to look brighter for me. It's porn, It's only one scene and my crotch will get three times more screen time than my face but, hell, it 's something.
- Ricky Bravo!
- That's me!
-How are you? Come on in.
Wish me luck!