Page 5 of Mexico Can Choke On It
“Bro dropped another all-caps text, and in Gavin-speak, that means someone’s about to get canned or killed or both. Miss you, love you, bye.”
“Good luck!” they chorus as I end the call.
With incredible speed, both a pizza box and the bill materialize. I tap my card to the reader and pray to the Bank Account Gods.BEEP!Transaction approved. A fucking miracle.
Quickly, I check my banking app balance. $35.62.
Great.I’m one splurge away from selling my kidney in some shady back alley.
I grab my pizza box, back away from the bar, and I see it: his number scrawled on the side in black Sharpie, complete with a little smiley face.
“Has that ever worked?” I ask.
He leans against the bar, muscles flexing casually. “Call me later, and I’ll let you know.”
“Fair warning—I’m the red flag people warn their friends about.”
I hip-check CPK’s door open, pizza box in one hand and phone in the other. I’m ready to dash to my car when I see a familiar figure sitting on a nearby bench. His faded Army jacket and worn boots clash with the perfectly manicured shrubs around him. Wispy silver hair catches the sunlight—longer since the last time I saw him.
“Well, if it isn’t my favorite sidewalk philosopher,” I say, changing course toward him. “I haven’t seen you in the neighborhood lately.”
Between his calloused fingers, I spot the worn-out cover ofThe Great Gatsby—because Jim might be homeless, but his taste in literature is top-notch.
“Thought I’d come see how the other half lives. Maybe absorb some wealth through proximity.”
“Careful—these people don’t do outsiders. Linger too long, and they’ll call security on you for blinking too loud.”
I study him.
“You eaten yet?”
“Nah. Just feasting on the ambiance.”
Before I can stop myself, I’m thrusting the pizza box at him. “Here.”
“That’s your lunch, kid. I may not have a roof, but I don’t need your charity.”
“It’s not charity if it’s friendship.”
His fingers curl around the box. “You spoil me.”
“So… you go to Legal Aid yet?” I ask, not staring at him. That’s the trick. Don’t look too hard, or he’ll shut down.
“Not yet. But I will.”
“I’m holding you to that, Jim. They owe you. And not the ‘thanks for your service’ bumper sticker bullshit kind of owe. The actual benefits kind.”
Jim cracks the faintest smile. “When you’re a big-shot lawyer, I expect you to sue the pants off every last one of them. Pro bono, of course.”
“Obviously.”
His words are a shot of adrenaline to my heart. Everyone thinks I’m crawling back to finish my art degree. But Jim knows the truth. That my dream, which low-key terrifies me, is to go to law school. I wanna fight for the little guys, the ones who get stepped on, ignored, and shoved aside. Everyday people who need a voice and a good lawyer.
But for now, I’m tucking that little secret away, safe and sound, in case I crash and burn.
My phone buzzes another screaming text from my brother. “Oh shit! I gotta go. The rat race owns me now.”
“Give ’em hell.”
