Stephanie lounged on a chair, a can of beer in hand. Memories of her time in jail drifted through her mind, and she let out a small, bitter smile. Still counted as a smile.
"I can't live off beer for the next two months, can I?" she muttered to herself. She knew she'd have to find a job within the next three days, even though she had no idea where to begin. She figured she'd just go with the flow when the time came.
"I wonder if they're all still here." Her thoughts wandered to her old high school friends—if they still considered her a friend. Life was funny like that. One minute, people surrounded you; the next, you were forgotten. Even her own parents had ignored her for six years.
Instead of sitting around wallowing in self-pity, she forced herself up. She needed a job—badly. What she had left would barely last two more days.
"What kind of job does an ex-con even get?" she asked out loud. She knew there were options—odd jobs maybe—but anything was better than nothing.
