Going for Broke

Hi, my name is Davis.

ME: Take a knife--

I'm broke.

ME: --And plunge it into my heart.

There is no life left in me.

Once it hit me that Skyler had absconded with all my hard-earned money, I saw no more reason to live. That's how I wound up in bed with Ritchie.

RITCHIE: Davis, you're in your twenties. You're supposed to be broke.
ME: I'm in my LATE twenties. There's a difference.
RITCHIE: How much do you need to live off of each week?

I told him.

RITCHIE: I'm sorry, but are you independently funding a small village?
ME: Nice place. Nice restaurants. Nice clothes. All that costs money.
RITCHIE: Well guess what, Glam? You've gone SPAM.
ME: This can't be happening.
RITCHIE: Do you work?
ME: Yes, but...not a lot.
RITCHIE: Are you able to work more?
ME: Not...really.
RITCHIE: What is it you do for work?
ME: I'd rather not discuss it.

I take the Barney Rubble approach when people ask me about my job. It's not nearly as high-profile as I would like it to be, but it does keep me looking good--assuming I'm able to dip into my savings whenever I need to show off a little.

RITCHIE: So your show-off money is gone? That's not so bad.
ME: MY ENTIRE LIFE IS SHOWING OFF!
RITCHIE: Then you better start looking for alternative means of financing, sweetheart.
ME: Like what?
RITCHIE: Aside from work? I'm not sure. Use that scheming little brain of yours.

He got out of bed to go shower. That was when I noticed the little black book on his nightstand. I got up out of bed quietly and picked it up.

Inside were the names of men--lots of men, and little facts about them.

-- Good kisser; Med Student
-- Nice Body; Attorney
-- Hideous But Rich; Architect

Hideous But Rich, huh?

Sounds like my kind of guy.