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I called Brandon.
He answered on the second ring, sounding distracted and important. I explained the situation, choosing my words carefully, asking for a loan, not a gift. I promised to pay him back, even gave him a timeline.
Not awkwardly. Not uncomfortably.
He laughed like I had told him a joke.
“Man,” he said, still chuckling, “maybe it’s time you accept that you’re just not cut out for much. You’ve been struggling forever. At some point, that’s on you.”
I remember staring at the cracked dashboard as his words settled in.
“I just need a little help,” I said quietly.
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