Well, it's just another day in America in 2045--oh, and did I mention I'm a guard at a concention camp? Look, we're Nazis now, and there's nothing we can do about it. There's no use crying about it because that isn't going to change anything. Sometimes you just have to become a Nazi and that's that. I walk around and yell at some inmates, who are eating bugs instead of machines or whatever. "You! Stop that!" I yell as I whip an emaciated man whose mouth is full of crickets. Obviously I don't want to whip him--obviously--but I have no choice, otherwise the other guards will think I'm soft and report me to Hitler. No, not Adolf Hitler. Paul Hitler. He's the president and he's not related to the real Hitler. But everyone calls him "Hitler" anyway. And just because his name is Hitler doesn't mean he's as bad as the real Hitler was. I'm tired from walking around in my tight suit and boots. And my feet hurt from the boots. Obviously I'm not saying I have it as bad as the inmates, but my job isn't easy. There is a beautiful Mexican lady here, and before you say anything no she's not in here because she's Mexican. She just happens to be Mexican. But I do think that if she got to know me outside of the camp, she'd really like me. We honestly have a lot in common, and I try to go easy on her. I think she likes me, but maybe she's just nice to me because I'm a guard. But she has such a sweet smile, and is very gentle, like a bird. I walk past a guy who is hanging from his wrists and he's been crying for hours because his shoulder got dislocated, and I do think it is an unfortunate situation. I really just wish things were easier and that we could all just get along, but life is tough sometimes.