Twenty-two, sixty-six

I’m lying in bed and my heart is beating at a million miles an hour.

I waited up until that special hour. Midnight was payday.

I have spent all the pay I got in Russia on my backlog of loan repayments, of rent and of phone bills. It’s all gone.

But I did a few hours work in August in Dublin, so I was due around €300. It’s not a lot, but it should be enough to make it most of the way through the month.

When I logged onto my online banking, I got a fright. I’d been paid more than I expected: €380.

For any normal person this would be a good surprise. But for me, €380 is a dangerous number. It’s the amount of my monthly loan repayment.

The money hasn’t even made it to my account. The loan has eaten it. All of it.

I have €22.66.

Twenty-two euros, sixty six cents. To last me until the fourth of October. That’s 28 days away.

Can I live on less than six euros a week?

I’m flying to Istanbul on Saturday for a conference. How the hell is that meant to go?

Twenty two euros.

My piggy bank is full of coppers. I might be able to squeeze a tenner from that.

Thirty euros.

Bollix.

I’ll find a way though. I will.

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