Deferred

He pressed the name tag into my hand, but it was my stomach that rebelled. I already smelled the fried food odor that would cling to my uniform; I already imagined collapsing into my bed at the end of a shift, words unwritten.

I thought, my dreams are not for sale, but I must have muttered it, because the manager replied, “Of course not. You can’t sell things no one wants.”