“You wanted to see me, Ms Wallace? Am I in trouble?”
“No, but I’m concerned. You’ve been late for school and your grades are slipping. You’re off to college soon.”
“Sorry, but I’m tired. Got a job.”
“Minimum wages won’t keep you, young man. You need college to make a real living.”
“But I’m making $250 a visit, three a day, and keep getting more calls.”
“What are you doing, Timmy? Is it drugs? Who are you seeing?”
“Can’t tell that. Maybe I better just show you…”
He stands slowly and drops his pants.
“Holy Shit! Where’s my fucking wallet?”
