“You thought I was only quitting to go work for somebody else.

Trade me these clean coins for a bank check today, and this is over.”

“You handed me your notice on a Tuesday afternoon,” he whispered, his voice sinking into the gravelly whisper he used whenever a customer tried to argue an invoice.

“You left my front desk shorthanded right before winter tire season.”

“My son needed medical coverage,” I said.

“A gallon of milk is three eighty-nine, Dale.