Tasha looked tired. She always looks tired, but she saw the book I'd brought in and wanted to know what it was about.
"It's about the dwindling middle class," I explained, which it was. "The basic premise is the economy is in the toilet because you have a weird culture of social competitiveness going on between the wealthy. "
She seemed less interested, lanced my finger and filled a little tube with my blood.
"The rich get richer, the poor get poorer," she said.
"Well, yeah, but it gives a reason why."
"The rich don't want none of the rest of us to have any money." She sighed. "I could use some."
It seemed a funny thing to say, given where we both were in this particular scene.
"I thought you guys did ok," I told her. "One guy was telling me about building a big house."
She tilted her head, annoyed.
"Oh, him," she said. "His stepfather has a construction company and his mama is an accountant."
I nodded, understanding.
"Yeah, he can build a house if he want to. " But maybe, she thought, he should go to hell first.
"So, I guess it's not so much what you do it's where you came from?" I asked.
"It might be. I ain't making no money here."