Lord, you know this all already, how originally our plan had been a simple one. Just the necessities was our motto. I would work until Buddy went to school—it was just months away at that point. Then, we would both work to get back. To get back the house on Fern St. To get out from under the bank. To get back out of this stinking car. To get back to what Buddy deserved.
I didn’t know how to cook anything, so I lied. It would never be enough to survive off just washing the dishes. I had to cook, for Buddy. I didn’t say how bad I needed the job, but the chef could see the cut glass in my eyes. He took me to the kitchen, showed me around, and I told him it reminded me of the last joint that I worked at. I tried to sound...
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