By A. R. Eguiguren
What would the literary world be like with an army of James Joyces?
To find out, someone needs to get hired: Reed Lodge—lab assistant, grocery-store clerk, tear-sheet manager, neon-sign apprentice, genetic genealogist, failed writer, diet-shake mixer, jack of all trades.
At $5,000 every two weeks, who is he to complain about overpaid employees? But even a dream job can turn into a slow descent into madness.