Even with the end upon us, society still manages to maintain money as the primary lubricant for making this little world go around.

Been a minute since I found a job as a scavenger, and sadly I haven’t been able to scavenge as many goods as I thought I could, much less go out to hunt. Crossbow’s been gathering a lot of dust, and I’ve lost count how many times I’ve cleaned the damn thing only for it to go unused. Luckily I’m paid by the hour, not the (lack of) haul I bring in.

It’s beginning to dawn on me that I might lose my mind if I’m stuck waiting any longer from being out in the wild. I miss the freedom. I miss the build-up of tension from tracking a decent sized game. I miss slowly and steadily squeezing the trigger. Won’t be long before I can scrape enough to get some ammo, but it’s become a race between my diminishing instinct and skill against the increasing size of my cash flow. Still, compared to having nothing a week ago it’s certainly not the worst situation to be in. I have enough to get by for now, and the woods have plenty of game for me to stalk later on.

I just hope one of the infected stumble into the shop to break the monotony here.