The next day, I do my shift full of spirit. For the first time since everything fell apart, I feel a little lightness in my chest. Now, I have a goal. I have a purpose of doing my daily routine.
I want to buy a bicycle. I want to work hard and save money—not just to get around more easily, but because the idea of having something I earned feels good. Something mine.
"You don't seem like someone who cooks, kiddo," Paul says while we're stacking milks.
I glance at him. "Not really. Do you?"
He pats his chest proudly with his wide grin. "Of course! I'm a master chef!"
"Wow, that's cool. I didn't expect you to cook."
Paul laughs. Oh, he always cheerful. "Why? Because of my big body and these tattoos? Tell you what, kiddo, it saves a lot of money. Plus, you can control whatever you want. No too much junk food. Healthy only!"
