Every morning, Gala's head is like being hit by a giant hammer. His dizziness did not go away, and he always wobbled when he started to walk. His reckless behavior sometimes makes him fall many times. The carpet was worn, torn on several sides, and also smelled very musty, which always made it fall on the floor. Always and always.
It all happened almost every day. Gala herself is confused about what is going on with her? Like the stupidest person in the world. If it was like this, Gala could only wipe her forehead slowly. Sitting cross-legged while repeatedly grumbling over the bad luck he had.
Either because it's clumsy, or Gala was born with a lot of carelessness. He didn't understand himself.
"My teeth take a long time to fall out like this," he said slowly. He rubbed the corners of his lips that hurt again. He rubbed his forehead, which he felt was numb from kissing the floor. Glancing briefly at the old clock, grateful that it can still hang, even though it feels like I could complain, the old clock has wanted to become a resident of the trash can.
Every second that passed, he sounded like someone was dying, breathing hard, so weak. But Gala still needs it. Maybe with this month's pay, he can buy a new one. Slightly better than this hour at the thrift store in the Border Market not far from the outskirts of town.
A market sells various necessities that are still usable at a lower price than buying them directly at the original shop. Gala always wanted to buy quality goods but realized she didn't have enough money. His life could go a bit normal he was very grateful. Who knows, at least Gala doesn't want to complain anymore.
Free.
Help will not come to him. The one with him is even more unlucky, ridiculed, and pushed aside further and further.
Gala snorted after that. He glanced back at the clock earlier. The long hand had already passed six, which meant it was too late. Why does he always have to get the morning shift? Which has always been his weakness? What made him, even more a loser and the subject of ridicule?
Not wanting to curse much for his bad luck, he immediately got up. Slightly limped and kicked many things that were scattered near where he fell earlier. Snatching the uniform that was starting to fade, he always received a rebuke whenever he spoke to Mr. Kim.
The man with large, rosy cheeks resembling a pig said casually. "You're the kitchen staff. You don't have to be good at wearing a uniform. After all, you have more to do with garbage bags. Uniforms are expensive. You are incompetent to take care of him."
So Gala gave up and accepted what she could do. After two years of struggling with the junk heap of the fast-food restaurant that Mr. Kim manages, there has never been an increase in positions such as being a chef or with less dignity in his eyes. Waiter.
Never. I hope that Gala can't even ask for it. Maybe Gala has become unemployed, making it difficult for her neighbors. It didn't take long for him to struggle with the bathroom. Apart from the fact that the place is no longer suitable, Gala has repeatedly protested with the owner of the flat, Mrs. Milly, but it has never been repaired.
Mrs. Milly is even more compulsory Gala to pay the rent, which is mounting because she lives with her mother. Unfortunately, the mother left at will without leaving a penny to Gala, even though debts piled up in the case of renting flats. Almost every month, Gala's salary runs out to pay off the debt her mother once left. Not to mention many excuses for people out of nowhere to collect the rest of the debt.
It feels like Gala will go crazy if she continues like this.
Complaining also feels like no one will hear.
Here she was, standing in the doorway, patting her pale cheek. Her skin is indeed white, even though her mother is not as white as her skin. It looks like the skin of most of the West Metro groups. I do not know where the origin of the white that he has. Either way, the more bad luck he has. The cynical views and ridicule abounded and grew over time until Gala was twenty-five years old.
Horrible.
If his name could be exchanged for a life of luxury, because of the name his mother gave him, many predicted that it had a great meaning—the Haidar Galaxy—but he didn't feel that big was meant. Perhaps great misfortune surrounds his life. That makes sense.
Even the other supports, with the stout body, are unable to overcome the misfortunes that keep happening in his life. He can only pray every day; hopefully, the bad luck that he made his last name—Haidar Shit Galaxy—isn't too much, and he can still condition it.
I hope.
He came out in a hurry with breakfast, leftover bread from yesterday, which only took two bites, and milk for who knows how many days it had been in the refrigerator. He didn't have time to take it out, let alone warm it. There's only enough food for tonight. Mr. Kim was kind enough to pay her meager salary. Gala wants to throw a tantrum but needs a life that Mr. Kim supports at her restaurant.
In Metro Selatan, who would give him a free lunch and dinner if Mr. Kim is being kind? Even though his fat boss is always fierce, he never talks in a relaxed tone, and his face is always bright red when talking to Gala. Maybe because this Gala often made him angry. However, Mr. Kim still has a little heart.
Gala allowed him to have lunch and bring dinner from the restaurant he owned. It's not that good, but Gala can block her stomach and make her body even more muscular. Gala feeling, only Mr. Kim alone. Never mind, the Red Cheek was cursing him as long as his stomach didn't sting all the time.
"Morning, Gala," said Mr. Richard was right at the end of the stairs. Two bags full of groceries were in the middle-aged man's arms.
"Morning," said Gala curtly. "Sorry, I was in a hurry."
"Late again?"
Gala just shrugged. I don't know if the question was meant to make fun of him or just a question. Almost every day, Gala feels she is asked the same question. And another one, "Have you had breakfast, Gala? Your face is getting paler."
Gala can't forget the part that Mr. Richard asked. As if there were no other questions. Maybe some residents of the flat thought that Mr. Richard was more or less paying attention to Gala when he wasn't. Every time Gala took the time—with compulsion—the older man had something to say.
Including his mother, who doesn't want Gala to hear.
"The day after tomorrow help me clean the warehouse," he ordered.
The young man turned quickly before actually leading to the door. He lives in a small flat crammed with neighbors who may be in the same economic situation. Only Gala felt herself the most miserable. Mr. Richard retired from one of the big banks, but unfortunately, he received the very little pension. His stupid son ate the rest. Unfortunately, Mr. Richard loved his foolish son very much.
If Gala's parents were as good as Mr. Richard, maybe he'd pay more than care for her. But, he is just a connoisseur of stupid stories that often come out of the man not far away.
"There is a reward, Gala. Calm down."
Inwardly, Gala cursed again. Is it really on Gala's small face that she doesn't have any money? But the coins and some notes that Mr. Richard gave to Gala, which he could use to add to Mrs. Milly's flat rent payment.
"Okay, Mr. Richard. I'll help you after work," he said hastily. He needed money, not wanting to impress himself even though his eyes suddenly brightened. As bright as the sun this morning. Then he immediately closed the door which led to the side of the flat he lived in and also smoothly parked his old bicycle. The treasure he has now.
He let out a long breath.
"Come on , Gala. Today is going to be a long day."