If You're Poor, It's Your Fault
My wife's parents died, so we had to go to the Social Security Office. I didn't see anyone in there over the age of sixty five. It was a bunch of "so called" disabled people walking around looking healthier than I was, trying to get some free money. We were embarrassed to be there thinking we were going to be grouped in with them. I could hear side conversations of how they were getting their hustle on.
Ghetto Bastard: A Memoir (Volume 1) and Ghetto Bastard 2 (Volume 2) by Russell Vann