For once Byron is more politically informed than his varryn-mate. Check yo’ privilege, Syr’Nj.

At this time, I was perhaps as well-equipped to write this scene as I ever would be. Compared to many, I have had an easy life. My reasonably successful parents have always been there when I needed them, emotionally or financially. But I was far too old to be comfortable relying on them, was trying to make it on my own, and by most measures, was failing dismally.

The Liberty Tax office in my area had fired everyone on staff except me, due to some interpersonal drama I had mostly avoided. This meant I had a temporary gig with more than 40 hours a week of work, and more and more as April 15 and May 1 approached. And I worked as many hours as they gave with the knowledge that soon after those dates, I’d be out of a job completely. On top of this, I had two months to find a new place, as it became clear that one of my oldest friends and I just did not work as roommates. I still wasn’t really financially desperate, but I was thinking like I was, enough so that when Byron says “actually starving,” I could hear the grit in his voice.