“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?”

 

 

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