“Sorry, I wanted to tell you that you’re rich.” She laughed and shook her head again in disbelief.
“I ran into Noah, by the way, the little brother? He asked if I knew anything about his dad
and showed me this list of his notes. Here,” I said, and showed her the list on my phone.
“His last note was ‘the jogger’s mouth.’ That mean anything to you?” Daisy shook her head slowly.
“I just feel bad for him,” I said. “He was crying and everything.” “That kid is not your problem,” Daisy said.
“We’re not in the helping-billionaire-orphans business; we’re in the getting-rich business, and business is booming.”
“Well, fifty thousand dollars isn’t rich,” I said. “I mean, it’s less than half of what IU would cost,”
which was the state school a couple hours south of us in Bloomington.
Daisy went quiet for a long time, her eyes blanked by concentration. “All right,” she said at last.
“Just did some mental math. Fifty thousand dollars is, like, five thousand nine hundred hours at my job.
Which is, like, seven hundred eight-hour shifts, if you can even get a full shift, which usually you can’t,
so that’s two years of working seven days a week, eight hours a day.
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