Extra

The sun wasn’t even in sight, when the little newspaper boy was rudely awakened from his slumber. It was time to go to work.

As he grumpily put on his trousers and adjusted his hat, he wondered about whether this job was worth waking up so early for every day. When he had started out, he had admired the more experienced newsboys on the beat. They were world-wise (he now recognized that as being world-weary) and street-smart (simply cynical) and walked about with a certain swagger that set them apart from all the other pre-pubescent delivery boys. They were in the business of selling news and a serious business it was. [...]

[...] However after three months of hawking papers like they were bars of soap, the little newspaper boy knew better. He wasn’t selling stories about issues that would change society, he was selling gossip about who was sleeping with who and where you could get the best deal this festive season. They weren’t stories about the impoverished but about how idiotic rich people were spending their money in wholly unproductive ways. He was more of a realist that any of those silly journalists standing outside homes of politicians, thinking that their reports were going to save the world.

He was realist, and he was going to be huge some day. Only until then, he needed to sell as many copies as he could to get out of this dump. And so with artificial vigour and fake enthusiasm, he took in a deep breath and began to yell ‘extra, extra! Get your copy now!’

Keep this t shirt on if: You too think that the newspaper boy has to be the hardest working soul in the entire journalistic hierarchy

Forget about it if: Like all your news updates, you’re reading this on your smartphone too.

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