A 2003 Peterbilt with four hundred and ninety thousand miles on it and a cracked windshield that I replaced myself in a parking lot.

The down payment was nine thousand four hundred dollars and I could not get it.

Carmen sold four gold bracelets that had been her grandmother’s and that she had worn at our wedding.

She did it on a Thursday and did not tell me until it was done, because she knew I would say no, and she was right, I would have.

Nine thousand four hundred dollars.

I have that number in my head the way other men have their kids’ birthdays, which is a sentence I would like to be able to take back.

The first year we made four thousand dollars.

Not a month.

In total, for the year, after the note and the fuel and the insurance.

What we had instead of money was a system, and the system was Carmen.