The lure of communism and advertisements.

Sitting on his cheap checkered couch, Laurence looked at the electricity and grocery bills grimly. The statement he held in his hand signaled grim tidings. The last eighty dollars he had in his checking account were gone now. Outrageous what corporations charged these days for knock-off ramen noodles and a single cabbage.

Mother always said to eat healthily, sadly being healthy wasn't for the poor. Laurence looked across his cramped apartment to the upturned cardboard box he called the bookshelf. Karl Marx's communist manifesto lay there, calling to him, its red cover shining in the portable dim lamp Laurence called lighting. Laurence fought back the call and put the papers on his table.

His sweater, bought at a yard sale dug into his arms as he put it down on the coffee table. A nice piece of furniture, glass, and polished wood. Would be great if he didn't just steal it from a cousin at a family gathering. Bored of sitting around, Laurence got up, instantly regretted the loss of comfort, and waddled to the kitchen for his favorite hobby these days as blood circulation returned to his legs.

The pale white tiles on the floor chilled his sock-covered feet. The kitchen was a tiny storeroom with all he could ever need. A small pink fridge, a microwave, a small shelf, and a portable stove along with a window the size of a somewhat large shoebox. All provided by the landlord, bless his soul. Then again, if Laurence wanted to bless the man, he would pay him rent. Laurence pulled open the fridge, wincing as the cold air fell onto him.

Winter took him by surprise. He had been completely unprepared when the temperature dropped and being the cheapskate he was, indoor heating could go to hell. Every now and then, Laurence shivered at the frigid air. To Laurence's absolute surprise, the fridge was empty, again, for the sixth time this day. Reality developers still hadn't added food-spawning features. Laurence closed the fridge, disheartened by the bullshit update department of reality. His stomach grumbled angrily to announce its displeasure.

"Hates when I eat ramen noodles, gets angry when I don't eat them, make up your mind!" muttered Laurence before shouting the last bit to no one. A small voice in his head told him he should stop talking to himself. He ignored it. His stomach calmed down immediately, almost as if it could listen. So Laurence went to work. Opened a packet of ramen noodles, boiled tap water, and so on. Halfway through, his Nokia rang with that annoying default ringtone he was too lazy to change.

Laurence slammed the open ramen packed onto the middle compartment, eager to get to the phone before his landlord could think he was at home. Usain Bolt was extremely fast, yet even he would pale at the sheer physical feats an unathletic young man could perform when scared. Fast as lightning, Laurence grabbed the phone and answered without thinking.

"Hello sir, would you like to explore our newest product, The Hair Rejuvenator by Joe Alister?" asked a voice, clearly a salesman. Bored and hoping to be amused, Laurence asked "Does it come with eighteen kilograms of nitroglycerin?" keeping his tone serious enough to fool the salesman.

The salesman paused for a second, unsure about his question. Oh god, this guy is a newbie, "Sorry for the delay sir, but could you clarify what you mean by eighteen kilograms of nitroglycerin? The Hair Rejuvenator comes with a two weeks supply of vitamin E or an anti-aging eye serum." said the salesman politely, completely convinced Laurence was asking legitimate questions. Laurence decided to hang up, not willing to explain the explosive material lore. Laurence shut the call and reclined his head on the couch's crest.

Laurence stared at his plastered white walls, feeling the emptiness return. But he was feeling slightly happier now, his landlord hadn't heard probably, which meant he was free to browse memes and open his fridge. Just as Laurence walked back to his couch, someone knocked on his door. "Shit." whispered Laurence, hoping that it wasn't who he thought it was.

"Oi! Open this door right now Laurence. I'm tired of your crap, pay me now or vacate my flat!" ranted the man behind the door. And so Laurence did the only logical thing. He froze in place and waited for Sugon Denutes, his landlord to leave thinking it was a false alarm.

He could feel the awkwardness of his landlord as the silence flourished. Laurence heard Sugon shuffle down the hall and away from his door, probably contemplating whether he had schizophrenia. Sugon Denutes was a sad, sad man. Then again, anyone with such a name would be depressed. Given the name unironically by his American mother who wanted her darling boy to have a "cultured name" Sugon was an extremely irritable person. His French immigrant father passed him down the last name.

Anything else like Jacob or Ronald would sound more honorable in this day and age. Sugon was quick to anger and went hard on rent skippers. Yet he had a few glaring weaknesses. He had bad hearing and frequently lost his personal belongings. A combination of Sugon losing his key to Laurence's flat and refusing to pay for another one to be made allowed Laurence to skip rent and not be thrown out immediately.

Laurence tip-toed towards the black door and peeked through the eyehole to confirm Sugon was gone. He sighed in relief and made his way back to the kitchen to finish making his ramen. A few minutes later he was swallowing mouthfuls while sitting cross-legged next to his coffee table from a plastic bowl. He took care to make sure none of the soup fell on the table.

By far, it was worth most of his belongings, even overtaking his laptop. His cousin tried calling the cops on him after he found out it was missing. Laurence brought the spoon to his mouth and was confused when there was nothing in it. He looked down and saw the empty bowl. So much for a full meal. Laurence dejectedly took the bowl back and set it in the sink before walking back to the checkered couch and falling asleep.

Knocking brought Laurence back to the world of the living. Laurence ignored the knocking, not willing to leave the comfort of his couch. Whoever was out of his door was knowledgeable enough to know that by the twentieth knock, they should go away. Laurence wondered sluggishly if this was a dream. Laurence stirred on the couch before opening his eyes and grabbing his laptop.

He opened YouTube and clicked on a farming tutorial, knowing full well he'd probably never see a real field in his lifetime. He was greeted by ads after the video loaded. "Down with capitalism.", said Laurence knowing full well that Sundar Pichai would be listening to his audio along with the human, definitely not a lizard Zuckerberg.

Laurence spammed the skip ads button, which conveniently didn't work, and ended up being redirected to a new video, labeled, "How to start a law firm online in 15 minutes.". Intrigued by this, Laurence let it play. The guy explaining was his favorite nationality of YouTube teachers, Indian. From his experience, when it came to somewhat niche activities like registering law firms, real quality lay with the men who were often mistaken for Microsoft scammers.

He called himself Rajit and was a great explainer. Three minutes in, Laurence was intrigued. The slides and facts he presented were orderly and aesthetically pleasing. His accent hit the right spot too. "And now then guys, remember to like, subscribe, and comment on my videos for more tutorials. Onto the real part, the form. Now what you need to file a firm online is-" Rajit was cut off by the start of two 15-second un-skippable ads.

Laurence was filled with rage as the newest Honda Something was introduced, its great mileage, and low cost of 40 grand. The second was a VPN subscription sales pitch. Laurence smiled at the thought of buying a VPN instead of using TOR like a true cheapskate.

Rajit finally returned and went on and what he needed to file, when, how, and the easiest way to. Though another ad break occurred, ruining the enlightenment given to the world by these internet people. Rajit was so good, that Laurence liked his video, and even subscribed. Now with his head filled with random information, Laurence closed YouTube and sat back, and began thinking.

Rajit did say it was free of charge, of course, you needed a law license to register and would need to pay fees when you started gaining income, lest the IRS show up. Laurence shivered at the thought. Laurence got a notification on his phone, which he read, disinterested at first. Then he saw it was from his bank.

"Shit," said Laurence. He opened the message and saw it was the monthly statement of his savings account. His landlord had tried turning in the check Laurence gave him thrice this month. The gaming store he bought his ps4 from tried charging him his monthly installments. After the five-dollar quarterly fee and his latest withdrawal, the savings account of Laurence Vidi was worth 0.3 cents.

His fridge was empty and the temperature would be dropping further as winter reached its peak. It was only a matter of time before Sugon disabled his electricity and doomed Laurence to frostbite. By his estimations, he'd last two days without heating. Death by starvation or frostbite wasn't appealing.

"I need a job, or it's time to starve," said Laurence sadly. But what job? The only degree he had was in law. He'd tried his hand at both Bitcoin and drop shipping, only to make a loss for both. An idea appeared in Laurence's head. He had a law degree. He had passed the bar exam on the second attempt, and he knew how to start a firm. A burst of motivation usually only seen in the dead of night coursed through Laurence as he brainstormed his plan. "Yes, a law firm. But how do I get clients?" said Laurence aloud. He was left wondering as night came.