The boy is not making any meaningful strides in the great mortgage application debacle, but he’s retaining his sanity. For the most part. Other than a stated desire to drink like a fish on the weekends.
I call him on my way home, and tell him I’m getting ready for my visit. I’m standing in front of the ATM, with the din of the grocery store all around me, and I ask him idly how much cash I should bring with me. Continue reading “Financial machismo”