The Things We Don't Bake
Grace Kowalski woke at 10:30 on a Thursday morning, ate cereal standing up in her kitchen that was actually her mother's kitchen in the basement of a house on East Jefferson Avenue, showered, put on her Walmart uniform, and drove to the store on Outer Drive where she would scan items for eight hours and earn eleven dollars an hour. She did not hate her life. She did not love it. She existed in...
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