“You aren't Going to Tell My Mom, are You?"
And then I saw her. Standing casually next to a guy in a T-shirt, looking around for a customer to lap dance for ten dollars in the room. It was Nora. “Holy shit!” I thought. “What is she... fifteen? Did she see me? How do I get outta here?”
He was tired of carrying her weight. Her financial choices and responsibilities. Her alcoholism. And he knew she was tired of his drug abuse and laziness and porn addiction. And Train played. And the guy kept talking. “Thing is, man… if it weren’t for divorce, I’d have student loans.”