Susan stumbled out of the bar. Her knees buckled, and the stilettos scorched her feet from within.
It was her friend’s dinner party. There was dancing, drinking, doping, groping, and even some smooching. ‘So worthwhile,’ she thought, squinting for her Uber while rubbing her eyes.
A guard approached. As in every movie she’d watched with friends, he was same: tall, dark, and handsome with bald patches and bold muscles. She recognised him—having often past him in the corridors while rushing for her waitressing shift.
“This isn’t your lifestyle. Why—?”
“I’grew up poor, I don’ wanna be poor grown up.”
