“My dad owns every law firm in this province,” the lawyer’s daughter laughed after ramming her brand-new Tesla into my old Subaru

inventory of my car instead: the zip-tied passenger-side mirror from last winter’s hit-and-run, the older dent in the rear quarter panel from when I’d underestimated a concrete post, the slightly faded paint. Then her gaze slid to my jeans, my hoodie, my not-brand-new sneakers.

I saw it land in her expression—relief, calculation, dismissal. Middle-aged continue reading …