Every week, hour, second and Stacey was no closer to getting a job.
Bills crash to her welcome mat. She is surviving on unsubstantiated, sugar filled meals. There is no question, she won’t be able to pay my bills, let alone her rent.
She scrapes mould of her bread, and puts it in the toaster.
Answering her mobile on the first ring she knows It will be the same scripted words , I’m sorry but . . .
‘Hello Stacey, we would like to offer you the cashier’s position.’