Pushing hand between armrest and cushion of ragged sofa, I searched for unknown artifacts and pulled out faded savings pass book revealing thirty years ago had opened account with hundred dollars, inauspicious total for man in twenties. Two weeks later I needed ninety dollars. That happens when make few hundred monthly. I still rebuilt balance to one oh six, and wonder how I was so thrifty until remember lived in shack without air conditioning or TV, drove broken old car, and rarely dressed well, ate out, took vacations, or considered what women thought.
