[ WP ] A man , who fails at every job he is hired at , falls into depression .

Boris Belmont begins pulling the boxes out of the rental truck. Its 6 a.m. and Boris needs to put a move on it. His trainer, Eddie, moves with precision and speed that it dwarfs all of Boris' efforts. 
 
 Eddie glances at Boris inside the claustrophobic trailer of the delivery truck. 
 
 `` Put some urgency in it Boris..'' Eddie blurts out. 
 
 Boris nods as a sweat bead rolls down his crooked nose. A crooked nose in which Boris kept as a souvenir working at a construction site about two years ago. The crooked nose that came to be when Boris was holding a large piece of dry wall on top of the newly constructed attic, and as Boris held the dry wall, his slight step forward hurled Boris through the attic onto the floor below him. A major construction error on the floor panel of the attic. Boris landing with great precision, face first. Smashing his nose onto the concrete foundation. Blood pouring out, creating a red pool underneath his unconscious head. But a thought poured out as well, Boris always recalls, `` Shit, I broke the dry wall did n't I?''. Boris was terminated on the basis of endangerment and inexperience. Though his medical bill would only be slightly covered. 
 
 `` Urgency?' Boris thought,'How urgent am I not being?''. 
 
 `` Not urgent enough to keep you here!'' Eddie fires back. 
 
 Boris' thought was not a thought but a said statement Eddie heard loud and clear. 
 
 Boris drops the heavy box he's been fumbling with. Breaking the glass contents inside. 
 
 A silence overcomes the metal container filled with cardboard boxes attached to the body of the truck, where both Eddie and Boris stand and stare at each other. 
 
 `` Fuck..'' Boris exhales defeatedly. 
 
 `` That's coming out of your paycheck. Your last one which you can get at the end of the day today Boris.'' 
 
 Eddie steps away with his box in hand. Boris looks around, trying to find something to accomplish without breaking it. Boris gives up so soon. 
 
 He steps out of the trailer and into the cold morning. Boris figures what point is it to stay any longer. He'd only accumulate more problems. 
 
 Boris heads off, down the road of the neighborhood he's been working in since 5 a.m. Leaving behind the truck, the boxes and the relentless Eddie. Whom Boris can hear yelling at him as he walks away. 
 
 `` You piece of shit!! You sorry piece of shit!!! You can forget the paycheck!!'' Eddie yells in the distance. 
 
 Boris moves forward. The surrounding neighborhood of Kenington street. A rather well-off family neighborhood. Houses which Boris could only dream of owning, or renting... maybe even cutting grass on. 
 
 Bingo. 
 
 Boris stops. He looks around the neighborhood with its lush lawns and gardens. 
 
 Brilliant! Boris could finally be his own boss! He could charge enough to pay three months of owed rent to his uncle. Finally save up enough to move back in with Doris. His longtime on and off again girlfriend. This time their'off' but with Boris bringing in decent money cutting lush lawns of Kenington street, they'd be'back on' and hopefully permanently. 
 
 `` I could do this..'' Boris thinks aloud. 
 
 Boris does n't hesitate. He sees a towering three story house ahead of him. With overgrown grass and hedges that certainly need more attention. Boris puts a move on it. If he could get their approval its only a matter of time before he could capitalize on the surrounding lawns as well... 
 
 Boris steps foot onto the walkway and heads straight towards the double, towering red doors with its gargoyle knocker. Boris steps foot onto the rubber matt below him. He wipes his feet then hits the doorbell. A sudden musical air of Bach's FUGE IN G, echoes through out the towering three story house. 
 
 Boris listens to the full swing of the number. Then silence... 
 
 `` jesus...'' Boris says in fascination. Boris hits the doorbell again, and again FUGE IN G plays through out. 
 
 The door is finally opened. And there before Boris stands Petrek Harrison Von Copenhurst the second. Standing at about five feet one inches. Wearing a lush red robe and plaid slippers. Holding his beloved mug with decaf Colombian. 
 
 `` Can I help you?'' Petrek says with great disdain. 
 
 Before Boris can utter a word he's struck with sudden insecurity. Petrek has little patience this early in the morning which only grows through out the day. 
 
 Petrek is about to close the door on Boris,'Leave or I will release the mongoose on you...' Petrek states in closing. 
 
 Boris pushes the door ajar with his right hand. He peers in with feigned confidence while holding onto the thought of kissing the lovely Doris once more and pushes through the closing door... 
 
 `` Your lawns... your lawns! I'm here to offer my outstanding services of cutting your lawns for such a mediocre service fee that'd you swear I was cheating myself out of more with such talented work I leave behind. Your lawn would be the envy of the Kenington street...''. Boris pours out without breathing. 
 
 Petrek looks at Boris, somewhat impressed but mostly annoyed. 
 
 `` My lawns are taken care of, sorry''. Petrek again tries closing the door. 
 
 Boris refuses to lose. 
 
 `` But sir, you must be getting cheated by your current service provider. I could see that your lawn needs more nutrients, your lawn needs more tender care, not to mention your hedges are beginning to look more like puffs of green explosions held in a freeze frame. I could turn your front yard, which looks more like a garden war zone, into a palace entrance of a distinguished gentlemen.'' 
 
 Petrek again impressed. This time he's inclined to hear out Boris because if there is one thing Petrek has never stood for, and that was being cheated of his status ( s ). A well earned right for the utmost respect. Petrek was a World War 2 vet with an array of medals and stories. Petrek was known as the Irish-Dane who reinvented the use of a fishing line while being held prisoner in a Nazi compound. 
 Fishing out the cell key of a sleeping Nazi. Only to escape into the muddy war zone of the Soviets. In which then Petrek was forced to use an ancient form of Indonesian defensive dance to combat for his survival. It was then Petrek was known as the'Irish-Dane Dancing Thief of the night'. Among the many monikers Petrek has been heralded as, among them'Petrek the great koala tamer','Petrek the majestic glass lasso sculpter..'. But never in Petrek's life would he be known as the neighbor with the'garden warzone'. 
 The thought sent goosebumps down Petrek's fragile spine. 
 
 `` I'm listening...'Petrek said intently. 
 

