I do not own a car; I don’t have health insurance, a pantsuit, or a career that necessitates any of the above.
I sling drinks and wait tables in my hometown; stuck in the middle of the Laurel Highlands of Pennsylvania, it’s a glut of history, period architecture, and WASP wealth. The demographic skews older but has yet to retire from the rigorous pastime of knowing everyone’s business. A heavy percentage of the populace has police scanners so they don’t miss any of the action and can report back to their cohorts over $16 dollar benedicts. My family boasts two stints in rehab, an anarchist patriarch, and a few echoes on the police scanner ourselves, so you can imagine the stories they tell about us.