On HR($)

I say I will be there on the hour. 

Give me ten minutes. 
I'm leaving now. 
I'm leaving in five minutes.
Sorry - 
En route - 

At the end of four hours there is less incentive to leave when I am now being paid to be here in the first place.

Locate for me the first place.
Locate for me the first place and now add $$$.

I am making more per hour here in the first place than at any previous job, + or - $$$.

This is not my job, this is getting paid to help.
I have a job, but it too is not full-time.

None of the ways in which I am making money are ways in which I could survive on alone.
One job needs a second job needs a cut in rent needs a free meal. 

I realize at the end of four hours that I am worth at least twice per hour what I am charging.
Or, what is being suggested that I am accepting.

Hours is an anagram of Horus, the Egyptian deity of kingship, war, and hunting. He contained the sky so that the sun and the moon each represented one of his eyes.

What happens when you close the sun and look through the moon?
And vice versa?

Horus is depicted as a falcon, typically a peregrine falcon, or as a man with a falcon's head.
Peregrine falcons are typically the assistants domesticated to the whims of their trainers, for messenger services, hunting game, and spying on trails or danger lookouts.

In the 1959 young adult novel My Side of the Mountain, Jean Craighead George writes about a fifteen-year-old boy cramped in his family's Manhattan apartment until his discontent leads him to runaway to the Catskill mountains. There he lives in a hollowed tree trunk with a trained peregrine falcon named Frightful. A guide in simple DIY self-sustenance, My Side of the Mountain is complete with diagrams and step-by-step instructions for stripping birch bark for paper and turning acorns into flour. Teenage asylum was never so profitable as the self-imposed exile into adulthood. Perhaps having a falcon helped, or perhaps it was just lucky.

J.D. Salinger's Catcher in the Rye published the discontent of misanthropically-growing-older Manhattanite Holden Caulfield in 1951. Colloquialisms pepper the book from Holden's interfacing perspective with the norms of his zeitgeist. You have to know the walls in order to walk around them. "Give her the time" was slang for sexual intercourse.

How much time does one have in Manhattan?
And in the Catskills?

I am wondering how I can be given more time and be making more per hour of it.