The woman behind me said, “Must be nice living off the system,” and then my little girl pushed up her sleeve and showed the hospital bracelet she still hadn’t taken off.
“Mom, can I please get the blue one?”
My oldest was holding a little coat with a butterfly stitched on the pocket.
It wasn’t fancy. It was a little faded at the elbows, and one button had been replaced with a white one that didn’t match.
But to her, it looked beautiful.
I was standing in a thrift store outside Dayton with a plastic basket on my arm, tiny snow boots for my youngest in one hand, and exactly forty-three dollars in my wallet.
Forty-three dollars to stretch across four more days.
Forty-three dollars after rent.
After gas.
After the copay at urgent care.
