The Truth According to Ember

by Danica Nava

Technix offered insurance, and I wanted it. Technix could be a cover for a Mafia money-laundering business, and I wouldn’t care. Did the Mafia provide a 401(k) with matching contributions? If so, I’d look the other way.

Most people did not dream of pushing paper surrounded by fake walls, but I was not like most people. I was a recovering poor person, and a well-loved, decorated workspace meant stability, longevity, and steady income.

The car itself was trash, but getting out of it to check what was going on under my hood could be life or death. I would be an open target. Easy for someone to grab and drive off. I could end up as one of the missing and murdered.

Fuckboy Kyle was a plastic Ken doll compared to all that was Danuwoa.

Believing in basic human decency was not being “woke,” but I bet he thought that. Yelling things like what he did stripped someone of their humanity and replaced it with a stereotype. It was vile, and I felt like I was making dirty money working for this man.