be okay.”
That got his attention.
He turned off the stove and sat across from me with his own plate.
He didn’t correct me.
He didn’t lecture.
He waited.
So I kept going.
“I make fifty-five a year,” I said. “That’s not nothing. I’m not broke because I’m buying fries. I’m broke because everything costs too much. Rent is insane. Food is insane. I pay for health continue reading …
