Total pages in book: 48
Estimated words: 46695 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 233(@200wpm)___ 187(@250wpm)___ 156(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 46695 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 233(@200wpm)___ 187(@250wpm)___ 156(@300wpm)
My belly groans as I head for the employee-only exit, and I almost bump into one of the few familiar faces I remember.
Arno from the cafeteria.
The casino has a ton of food they toss out every few hours and being someone after my own heart in that department, Arno always manages to smuggle out plenty instead of putting it all in the trash.
And tonight, he’s my food-bearing white knight.
My real hero is stuck up in the high roller’s lounge, and I fight hard not to feel the pain of that loss, eyeing the grease-stained paper sacks Arno holds up.
“Hey, Krissy. I saved you some. Jesus! Are you okay? You look like hell,” he says with some concern.
If I had the energy, I’d roll my eyes. But I only smile and shrug.
“Same shit, different day,” I fire back at him, making him laugh.
“Ain’t it so?” he replies knowingly. “Ain’t it so?”
“There’s some meat in this one…and well… I was gonna save this. But here’s some shrimp. Looks like you could use it more than me,” he says, ignoring my protests and sliding the still warm paper sacks into my arms.
He runs a hand across his own belly, remarking that I’m really the one doing him a favor, and he doesn’t stay long to chat.
Being caught smuggling waste food is right up there with taking home casino chips to polish over weekends.
It’s a firing for anyone caught, but apart from being beyond caring, I’m so hungry and tired right now, and it’s a risk I know both Arno and a dozen others like us will take to make sure we have food to eat at least.
“Thanks, Arno,” I call out to him as he keeps moving, lifting a hand in reply and quietly disappearing down the labyrinth of concrete corridors.
Exiting a side door into an alley, the blast of frigid air cuts through me. And I hug the paper sacks closer to me to stay warm as I psych myself up for the long walk home.
See? It’s not so bad. Sure, you had a crappy day, but at least you’ve got something to eat for a couple of days…
I’m trying my best to put a positive spin on the wrenching feeling in my insides.
And it’s not only hunger.
It’s a pain inside whenever I think of Ethan now.
That horrible, empty space in my guts that feels like I’ve been sucker-punched is superimposed with the image of his perfect face.
Those words in his deep voice echo in my ears as the wind competes for airspace in my mind.
‘My lucky charm.’
The wind picks up, and then it starts to rain.
Disguising the tears no one will see with freezing little rivers that stream down my hot cheeks.
The paper sack is soggy in minutes, and with a few miles to go, I wonder if there’s even any point in trying anymore.
The rain settles in for what I know means an all-night soaking for the city, and after a few more blocks, once I get off the main strip, paper sack number one gives way.
Shrimp and plastic containers explode onto the sidewalk, and with no time to grieve that loss having so far to go still, I hug the remaining bag with food in it close over my chest.
The usual half-hour walk home takes me over an hour. My feet are throbbing, and my legs are numb by the time I sigh.
I finally spot my building.
Made it.
The sudden familiarity of the dreary building and the wide stone steps leading up to even more steps before I’m home.
It almost makes me forget all about the last few hours as the worry I’ve been suppressing all day about my rent bubbles to the surface again.
I have to tiptoe past the landlord’s apartment before climbing the six floors to my own.
But nothing happens.
Usually, Mr. Crabb will be waiting for me, as though he’s been waiting and watching out his peephole all day. But today, there’s nothing but me and my frozen ass in the hallway.
And as I take my first steps onto my floor, congratulating myself on some small and invisible win, I see it.
Pinned to my front door and glaring pink, easily spotted from even this far away.
Eviction notice.
Seven days to pay what I owe and get out.
I should feel some kind of panic about exactly where I’m supposed to go. And how I’ll even come up with what I owe, let alone any money for that mythical new place.
But it’s weird because I don’t feel anything.
It’s like someone flicked a switch in me, and especially after the day I’ve just had, it kinda makes sense in a strange way.
The cherry on the cake of my day would be the absolute limit of what anyone could handle.
Keeping my bag and food in one arm, I try the lock.
The key still works.