You bullied me in the third grade, and made me not want to be around people. You’re dressed in a crisp suit, hanging out at midnight in an all-night diner with the rest of your “team,” looking like high school seniors coming from prom.
Now look at me.
I’m eating a quiet dinner and having a pint in a booth near you, my body aching from the five straight hours I spent clearing tables at the restaurant I work at. I’m paying for my burger with the tip money that I earned with my blood and sweat. I’m sore and tired, but every minute of the time I put in was worth the sometimes meager payoff.
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Look at you.
You bullied me in the third grade, and made me not want to be around people. You’re dressed in a crisp suit, hanging out at midnight in an all-night diner with the rest of your “team,” looking like high school seniors coming from prom.
Now look at me.
I’m eating a quiet dinner and having a pint in a booth near you, my body aching from the five straight hours I spent clearing tables at the restaurant I work at. I’m paying for my burger with the tip money that I earned with my blood and sweat. I’m sore and tired, but every minute of the time I put in was worth the sometimes meager payoff.
I don’t like you, and I never will.