Seven Crumpled Dollar Bills on a Pine Table in Michigan

sat in a wide glass jar on the kitchen counter, their sweet scent filling the small, drafty room.

Mike stood in the doorway, his shoulder leaning against the pine trim as Donald sat at the small table.

The kitchen was quiet except for the hum of the old refrigerator and the distant sound of a car on the highway.

“I know the first few months are always continue reading …