I graduated college three months ago, and it already felt like a lifetime.

The ceremony had been small and awkward.

My parents hadn't flown in.

I stood there alone, clutching a piece of paper that had cost me nearly $70,000,

wondering how it was supposed to fix anything.

The degree was useless.

Communications, some vague, frilly word that had sounded smart when I was 19 and sounded

absolutely idiotic now.

Every interview ended with a half apology about experience requirements or budget

freezes. I finally landed something entry level in the city, but the pay barely scratched

the minimum wage. I had enough in my checking account for a single tank of gas and maybe

two decent meals. My savings, what little I had enough in my checking account for a single tank of gas and maybe two decent meals.

My savings, what little I had hoarded through part-time jobs during college, disappeared faster than I could even feel it leaving.

The car became my home.

I had been sleeping in the back seat for the past week, folded up awkwardly across cracked

faux leather that stuck to my skin every morning. I showered at the gym. I kept my interview clothes

folded on the passenger seat to keep them from wrinkling too badly. I told myself it was temporary, but every night, staring up through the cracked

windshield made it harder to believe. The affordable apartments I could reach were two hours

away by bus from my job, if the bus even arrived on time. Two hours each way, four hours of my life every

single day wasted before I even clocked in. My body already ached by the time I finished my shifts

and the thoughts of sitting stiff and sweaty in a plastic seat while while the city crawled past the windows, crushed whatever energy I had left.

There was another option.

...