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“This piece alone has to be at least 500 dollars,” she persisted, looking at the pawnshop owner with eyes that bordered that of pleading. “They’re in mint condition. They don’t even look worn.”
She watched as the shop owner turned the gold earring in his grubby fingers. He made a few funny faces, took off his glasses and said: “Sorry, sweetheart, but I can’t give you 500 for these. I’ll give you 150. That’s my final offer.”
After one more glance, Julie pocketed the Victorian earrings. She was done negotiating for today, let alone with this man.
After giving her sincere thanks, she walked out the door into the chilly city. Another unsuccessful day, another week with a low amount of money. That was about the third shop she went to today. All of them gave her low offers for this one specific piece. None of them were enough to support her. She began to head towards the motel, a good five blocks from the pawnshop, while she contemplated on her unfortunate situation.
The decision to come to this city, halfway across the country from her hometown, was an impulsive and sudden decision. The night she left town, she packed three small bags, arranged to have half of her home things sent to her, and the other half to be put into storage. The reason for coming here was still there, but the resources for doing so never were.
The dream to go on with a fresh, better start was farther than ever now. The only progress she made was getting a low paying job at the café a few blocks down from the motel. It was usually just enough to pay the motel bill, and not much else.
When she got to her room, 103, she locked the door and sank into the bed with a cold feeling in her chest. Hesitantly, she reached underneath the bed and pulled out a small shoe box, decorated with magazine pictures and polaroids from the time she was 17. The reasons and hopes for coming to this specific place was kept in here, all of her secrets and dreams. She closed her eyes as she rubbed her fingers on the box’s rough surface.
“Once I sell those last pieces of jewelry,” she whispered to herself, “I’m getting out of here.” She opened her eyes and looked at the box as if the person who’s memories she kept inside was listening to her. “I need an apartment.” She paused. “Maybe even someone to really talk to.”
Sweet Amorette · Thu Dec 02, 2010 @ 06:06am · 0 Comments |
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