I had a really bad day at school today. It started from the moment I stepped into the school, when I got bullied for wearing dirty shoes. The shoes were all white Skechers when they were new, but now they were basically covered in dirt with a hole right near my big toe. All the other kids were wearing brand new Nikes with bright red stripes on them. I always loved to fantasize about one day being able to afford them for myself. This really aggravated me because about 3 months ago, I grew out of the shoes, and my toe was practically sticking out of them!  They consistently berate me day after day, and getting home isn’t much better. 

I walk onto the bus outside my school and step onto the front. I reach into the back pocket of the blue jeans my dad got me last winter. At this point, the jeans have been worn too many times to count. I searched for the leftover change my dad gave me last week for the bus, but I don’t feel any money. This surprises me. I feel embarrassed and don’t know what to do until the old lady right behind the bus driver sees me in shock and ends up giving me a dollar. She saves me. I feel a sense of relief. I sit in my usual seat on the bus, which is the fifth seat on the right. It’s an old chair with rips in it. It’s not the nicest seat, but it does the trick. All the way home, I dream about the new restaurant that opened across the street. It wasn’t much, but it sure beats the old 7-11 pizza my dad brings home every day. I dread coming home and end up eating the leftover pizza from his shift at 7-11 after looking all over the house for other food alternatives. It’s like a piece of cardboard with a little cheese on top, and just a little bit of dark red disgusting pizza sauce, but at this point, the taste is so normal to me that I don’t even bat an eye.

But today, I wasn’t going to eat the pizza. I just wasn’t. I get to my bus stop right in front of my apartment and practically run up the old, dirty, broken brown tile stairs to my unit, which is 8B on the top floor of the complex. I open the door, which looked like a drunk person had attempted to break in due to all the key marks around the door and the hole punched right through the center. I walk in and see my dad passed out on the couch with a half-finished bottle of Hennessy. This isn’t unusual. I went right passed him, I was going to steal from him. I've never done this before. I felt scared, but the drive to finally get what I want for once overruled my doubts. I pushed through and went with the plan. At this point, I’m sweating. The once dark blue shirt I was wearing turned black. My breath began to get heavier. I finally get to the counter. I walk over to his wallet, which is near the ashtray on the countertop. I take the only twenty-dollar bill in there, next to some food stamps. I wonder for a minute: is this the right thing to do? I shrugged my shoulders and ended up telling myself it's his fault. 

I take the money and run out of the house, right across the street to the new restaurant, wearing my dirty old jeans and an old blue shirt I got from Goodwill. At this point, I really don’t care about my appearance. I get in line with a smile on my face, patiently waiting for my turn. I finally get to the front, place my order, and get a fresh piece of pizza. I sit down in the fifth row of seats on the right side. For some reason, my body just went there without hesitation. I felt like being generous, so when my food got here, before the waiter left, I gave her a one-dollar tip. It put a smile on my face. I took a look at the pizza. It was fluffy, and the sauce looked like bright red tomatoes were picked right off the vine to make it as perfect as it was. I took the first bite. It was magnificent, nothing like the nasty old pizza I eat daily. This pizza was like nothing I've ever eaten before. It filled me up and, surprisingly, after indulging, my body didn't feel like s***.