Mexican Sweatshop Worker.

I wake up, hesitant to make too much noise for the others around me. Twelve in a room isn't very comfy, but I manage.
I wake up earlier than most of my workers because I walk to my job; I don't have a car or a bike. All the money I make goes to feeding me and my family and getting by with paying my share of the rent. After walking about ten miles I get to the factory I work in at six o' clock, a.m. I help make T-shirts.
I immediately get sent to my part of the assembly line, folding clothes for shipping. I'm one of the lucky ones. Just yesterday some guy lost his hand while working the fabric machine. He simply held on to the cloth for too long. He got fired that day for "malpractice with the machine." Not even two weeks notice. I would be angry, but this is the only job i can get at the moment, and I need to work to survive, so speaking up to the boss is not an option.
I worked through lunch again today. I figure with more production that happens because of me, maybe I'll earn extra money for something.
I got off work at eight o' clock p.m. I really wish our hours were what counted in the pay instead of production. I would have a lot more money if that was the case.
I make dinner for my family coming home from their jobs. Then we socialize a little, and I shower a little and go to bed at ten.