Poor Man's Novels & Stories

Well, she's confident with me because I already look like a lady and not a child anymore. One week had passed. Jackson is going to the bakeshop almost everyday to buy some breads. One day, he asked for my phone number. I happily gave it to him because I want to have a new friends. We became friends and he told me that he is just a child of a family driver and a maid. His parents were staying in their Master's mansion for a long time and he was born there. He grew up like a child of a rich family, but the truth is, he is just a son of a servants.

But he did do what he did, and he got his rightful punishment. He lived the past five years broke, having a few changes in his pocket most of the time just like any random guy on the street. He never thought of himself as someone obsessed with money, or cold-hearted like the rich a-holes, but it wasn’t until he became part of the poor did he realized he never really understood how poor people think, either. His punishment was more like a valuable lesson, if asking him. Scar sneaks a peek at Damian. Bashful, she curls up her legs and hides most of her face behind her knees, leaving only her eyes out for more peeks.

I’ve tried to wow her with money, it’s true. For the first time I understand what Saxon’s been through with Catie, who had even less money than Alice. She was homeless for a while and was malnourished because she couldn’t afford a decent diet. I’ve watched Saxon tease her with food, coaxing her as if she’s a child, and been puzzled by it. I was baffled by her reticence and her refusal to accept his help even though he’d gotten her pregnant, and I still am. Why are poor people so proud? Poverty isn’t a character flaw any more than having wealth is proof of a powerful personality, unless you’re in a mafia movie. I don’t get it, and it makes me angry that I’m sitting here in this huge house wit

They would think it was a high-quality knockoff. When rich people wear fakes, people think they're real. When poor people wear real things, people think they're fake. That's the reality. At that moment, Fernando's cell phone suddenly rang. It was a call from an unknown number. "Who is this?" asked Fernando. "Mr. Quinn, it's me, Henry. That night I heard you and your wife wanted to buy a Panamera, so I bought the latest model for you. Where do you live? I can send it to your wife right away."

My foot slipped, and before I knew it, I was on the floor, my books scattered, my English term paper that was due today smeared with chocolate milkshakes. “Hey!” a voice barked above me. “That milkshake cost me a fortune.” I looked up. The boy towering over me had a smug grin and a look in his eyes that made my stomach sink. His friends were smirking behind him like they were at some kind of show. “It’s… it’s just a drink,” I stammered, trying to keep my voice steady. “Besides, you walked into me.” “Yea, right.” He scoffed, stepping closer so his shadow fell over me. “Liar. Do you even know how much that cost?”

It was given to her by Naty. Ava snorted. "Such a cheap piece of jewelry. I bet it only costs $10. That's the thing with people who are poor. They have this mentality. You know what it's called? Poor people mentality. No matter how much you try to doll yourself up or imitate the style of us, the rich, you're just a poor, rotten girl deep down inside." It was hard not to feel insulted by Ava's crude words. Elise glared at her menacingly.

“She's a pretty girl, Luca. By far the best looking woman I have objectively ever seen. That makes her trouble. And you my friend, you've always been attracted to trouble. Isn't that why when Mr Stonecold offered you a chance to grow as an illegal, barely teenage, immigrant worker in his company, you conned him off his business and chose the part of a gangster?” I smiled lazily. It was the drugs. “Look how that paid off. Imagine I had agreed to the former.” He chuckled. “Probably knock up a road side prostitute, to birth your fourth child. Hey, but at least you'd have been at the building supervisor level by now.” The thought alone made me break a sweat. Being poor was hell. It wasn't as gla

This poor author is just trying to earn something. ---------------------------

This house has only one bed, that bed was used by the poor man. I immediately went to see the poor man, he seemed still lying on the bed.

Hell no! Oh, really? YES! YES! YES! One more time, really? Hell yes! "What would I get in return?", Huh? This man is too bad to even feel sorry for me, when he is in need I will help him too, and hello, his wealth will not be reduced just because of a cone of ice cream and a bag of popcorn Even if he buys the whole factory, he won't be a beggar, tsk “Go think of it, as long as you buy me! Many!”, He smiled foolishly—it was at this moment I knew I was fücked up