I wrote that he could pull his nine-hundred-dollar graphics card out of his computer tower, put it back in its box, and take it down to the pawn shop on Cicero Avenue.

I wrote that any pawn shop clerk would hand him at least four hundred dollars in cash for high-end hardware on any afternoon of the week.

I told him he could use that money to pay the electric company, buy ninety-five dollars’ worth of internet service, and pick up a box of cereal for our mother.

I typed six long paragraphs of cold, undeniable facts, listing every dollar he’d taken and every bill he’d ignored.

My fingers flew across the screen until the text box was full from one edge to the other.