The envelope is clutched firmly in my hands by the time I get to Greg's place.
He's not home when I step in but there's a key under the foot mat. I place it in the keyhole and head straight to the dining table.
Greg's apartment gives me the feeling of a condo. It's built just like one, everywhere looking like it was designed to give off the feeling of opulent comfort. Comfort that could not have been bought with the earnings from a coffee shop.
The chair I am seated on is covered with leather, and the floor is immaculately tiled. The couches are the color of clouds and there's a full glass wall that leads to a balcony.
He certainly couldn't have bought all this just from the earnings at the cafe. He must have come from money, or have a lot of it at his disposal to afford a place like this.
I open the covered serving plate and find myself face-to-face with porridge. It smells nice, with faint wisps of steam coming off it. I drop the letter by its side and deal with the hunger in my b
