"The Book of Jobless"

Ian Frazier, in the New Yorker:

Jobless sits, wretched, upon a curbstone. Everything he possessed has been taken from him. His accounts have been closed, house sold for taxes, warranties voided, policies cancelled, back wages garnisheed. His wife has left him for a vintner. His children have run away. He has become afflicted with piles, boils, and scours. Creditors give him no peace...

Then the Lord answered Jobless out of the whirlwind of hot-dog wrappers and plastic drink tops with straws still stuck through them, saying, “Who is this that darkens counsel with poorly researched statements? Suck up your insides into yourself like a man, and hear me, and answer what I will ask...