The Money I Took

Today a man slid cash under my case. He would not look at me. Two fifty. Rent is six days away so I put it in my pocket on the walk to the train.

His wife was in the kitchen with a cookbook open. She did not know what was happening in the bedroom. Or maybe she did. I do not know which is worse.

I do this all the time. Walk into a room. Man is nice. Hand too close. Tip too big. I know the math. One more drink and that hand is at my hip. I take the money and I go. I tell myself it is just work.

But it is not just work. I took it and I felt it sit in my chest. Same feeling every time. Like a piece of me is gone for good.

Maya texted. I said "later." I am not ready to talk. She would hear it in my voice. She would ask if I am okay and I would have to lie.