He must think I’m mad—full of insane dreams

He stops by

my isolated apartment.

“I’m close,” I said.

“Close to what?” He asked me.

“My talent is growing. My blog is growing. I’m going to get published!”

He’s quite comfortable. He gets paid 400 dollars an hour. He laughs, uncontrollably.

I scratch myself, like I have a drug problem.

“You need some balance in your life,” he said.

“What would that look like?”

“You could date my sister.”

“Your family and my family would love that. Not 30 minutes ago, my mother called me and told me to date your sister.”

“Really?”

“That’s right.”

“Why don’t you do it, then?”

“I don’t know. It might be a fear of my freedom slipping away.”

“She’s working out. She’s organized. She’s sweet. Many guys want to date her.”

I looked at him. All of his effort wasn’t working—although, I was thinking about it.

“She can cook too.”

Now, he had sold her to me. Good food was my Achilles heel.

“She will support your writing,” he said.

“But she’s a feminist,” I complained.

“Don’t worry. Once she gets with you, she will become whatever you want her to be.”

“That sounds too good to be true!”

“She’s a good girl, man—give her a chance.”

I looked at his greedy grin. He knew what he had done. He had just sold his sister to me.

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