And here we are in Boston! Ira and I, just the two of us! The move is complete, bags are unpacked, and the apartment feels like home! We left the guys (Sanya and Anyutka) in Old Orchard Beach; although we invited them to come with us, they refused, citing some kind of work and poor English.

After paying for the apartment, stocking up on groceries and essentials, buying a weekly transit pass, and celebrating our housewarming, we had $130 left for the two of us. I love these extreme situations where, like it or not, you have to do something. If for the whole month before that we were just lying around, filling out applications online, and complaining that no one was answering, then finding ourselves with minimal funds and no job, we started taking action. We practiced the method beloved by all international students—knocking on doors—where you just walk down the street and enter every establishment you see, asking, "Do you need help?" until you get a positive result. I always focus on restaurants and other food service establishments (avoiding fast food). Firstly, there is constant staff turnover; secondly, you can always grab a bite to eat, and it might even be something delicious; thirdly, it's quite interesting work that might come in handy in the future for family life or maybe for a career; fourthly, it's just a cool and very specific team. But anyway! Success came to me at the seventh door.

...These were the doors of a very expensive Japanese restaurant in the heart of the financial district. What embarrassed me even more was that the restaurant was located at the foot of the tallest skyscraper in the city. "They probably don't hire regular people off the street there!" I doubted. I really didn't want to look stupid in front of the manager and the staff by asking for a job in such an unusual way. After all, there is a traditional way to find a job in America, which includes a whole list of mandatory ads, resumes, interviews, etc. And here I am, barging in and asking for a job at such an establishment. But something told me...

In the next moment, I was already standing in the manager's office, where I had been led by a Japanese man with a very unfriendly look. It was a failure because from the very first seconds, Mike (that was the manager's name), without lowering his voice, asked me very strange questions: who am I? and what am I doing in his office? But despite such a "warm" welcome, Mike threw a whole pile of papers at me that needed to be filled out, and without much talk, gave me a job as a dishwasher. Although at that moment, I was fine with that!

Workdays began! 30-35-40 hours a week. I liked this place, I liked the team, and even Mike started to seem like a cool guy. We joked around and often did favors for each other. For that, he always treated me to a drink from the bar after my shift, even though I was only 20. Another week passed, and he offered me a side job as a sushi delivery person. I agreed!

It was cool! Perhaps the only job I truly liked. I rode around the city on a bicycle, delivering sushi in a backpack to lazy and wealthy Americans. Since the restaurant was in an affluent part of Boston, the clients were appropriate. I visited all the skyscrapers, saw very elite apartments, and I just liked exploring the city. Within a week, I knew all the passages, paths, and trails within a 3-mile radius. As Mike said, I was the fastest delivery person since the shop opened. These words made me very happy, and the salary and tips were even better. As a sign of gratitude, Mike removed the dishwasher shifts from my schedule.

Time passed, and I dedicated more and more time to work. The number of hours reached 80 per week, and I sometimes returned home as late as 5 a.m. My trust in Mike grew. I felt that they needed me more than I needed them. And I was right. It so happened that in just a week, probably 5-6 cooks quit the restaurant. No, not because of conflicts, although that happened too, but due to many objective reasons. And only 2 cooks remained in the kitchen, who were forced to work double shifts without days off. That's when I stepped onto the line. I was taught to cook hot Japanese dishes in an express course, and after just 2 days, I was standing as an independent cook. It was hot, I was nervous, I was afraid of ruining an order or taking too long, but I was on top of my game. YES, I won't be afraid to say it, I was on top of my game.

But I had another problem. I began to realize that I was spending too much time at work, that I hadn't rested at all for a month, and that I was in my favorite city and couldn't see it beyond the kitchen. It was September 1st when I decided that I had enough, that this was my last day. I told Mike—he was as upset as he was surprised. Quietly wishing me luck, he turned away and walked into the very office where I first met him. And I walked out, walked out with a sense of duty fulfilled and a firm and unshakable idea to immediately set off on a journey.