At this point

At this point it is impossible for me to ever become an aristocrat. My fingerprints are permanently stained. Little curvy black roads of dirt web the palms of my hands and the texture of skin is freshly bleached.

I will never achieve a place in society with ragged bit nails and hands that smell like cleaner and dead lettuce. But then, I know my limitations.

I think the problem with this world is, no one feels stupid.