My Rusty Van Owns This Street
Language: en
When the sign-in sheet finally made its way to me, someone had already taken a red pen to my name. Kat Miller — Unemployed. I stared at the jagged, hasty scrawl. I didn’t erase it. Rick stood in the center of the private dining room, microphone in hand, the gold watch on his wrist catching the light with a tacky, aggressive glare. "Alright, alright! Ten years, people! Let’s do a roll call!" "Is Kat here yet?" Twenty-something pairs of eyes swiveled in my direction. I pulled out the chair in the corner—the one without a name card—and sat down. To my immediate left was the door to the…