I’m awful worried about getting this job with Lennie. I ain’t sayin’ we’ll do bad, I just hope everything goes all right. If that Curly punk gets into a fight with Lennie, we can kiss both our jobs goodbye. Then we’d have to go to one of them plantations in California. Lord knows, it’s probably more packed than a school of fish. Not only that but with the occasional dust storm here and there, I don’t know were we’d find shelter. Most of the trees out there are probably as dried and shriveled as that old dog’s feet. Even worse would be trying to find food or water. Since the dust came in, most of the towns in the way probably already got the hell out of there. Then there would be the problem of the police. If we ain’t got no money, we might as well lie in the sand and bake to death. Hell, even if we do make past the police the paying wages ‘ll probably be next to nothing. There’ll be so many Okies there we’ll probably fight over who dropped a damn nickel. I really hope if we have to go to California no damn bus driver makes us walk four miles. On top of that, I hope no one like Curly’s down there. If Lennie gets in trouble, I don’t know what I’d do. All I can do is say my prayers and hope Lennie don’t get in trouble again. Jesus I’m stressed. No wonder there are flecks of grey in my beard…
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