Let’s Have a Year of Working Virtuously

I’d been 16 years old for less than a month, and I was irrationally embarrassed that my dad was here. It was my first week working at Firehouse Subs, ostensibly making sandwiches but literally just slicing bread and washing those clear, heavy plastic containers. I’d just secured my first W-2 job by driving east on Atlantic Boulevard and applying almost everywhere. I hoped for Publix; my realit

The rest is in the pages of Common Good.

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