Gloria Martinez: Changing Times

"Why are you driving me to school today?"

David's completely confused. He's still out of it, spent the entirety of last night hooked into a brain dance. You don't want to shame him for his activities, but he's addicted. It's something you're dont' want to confront him on; you don't want to know anything more about your little boy's interests.

"I have a interview today, and stop slobbering on the window."

You answer tersely, quickly snapping at the boy after you saw him dripping saliva onto the window he's resting against, heavy bags beneath his eyes revealing an entire weekend wasted.

"Oh? Where?"

Noisily, disgustingly, sucking up what saliva had been dripping from his gaping mouth, the boy pulls away from his resting place to stare curiously at you, eyes red, raw and unfocused.

"At Arasaka, where else?"

Trauma Team won't hire your barely qualified ass, and you wouldn't risk getting written up as a no-show for work if it wasn't for a tempting alternative. You'll take the fine if it means a chance of getting this job.

"Huh, I didn't think they hired old people for entry-level."

"Wha- You brat! Come here!"

Finding affordable parking is impossible in the Arasaka district, so you bite the bullet and shell out the few hundred eddies for a space in some branded parking garage.

Fantastic, more debt.

"Gotta go!"

David is quick to leave, even with his distractions; he takes his education seriously. It's the only way he'll avoid making the same mistakes you did at his age. That you're proud of; not too many kids like yours these days.

"Not so fast!"

Even if he's growing up so fast, you're still his mom. Yanking him back into his car seat, you pat away the creases and the crumbs from his morning toast; he impatiently taps his foot.

"Alright, be good; take the tram home, I got work in the evening."

You give him a kiss on the cheek as your boy nods his head in understanding. Flashing you a quick smile and wishing you good luck, he bolts out of the car, towards the staircase down.

Yawning, you rummage through the glove compartment for a quick pick-me-up, and swallow a few of the caffeinated pills you find within. And then...you just sit there, relaxing that strained smile into flat frown.

Hands gripping the steering wheel, you stare at the flaking logo in the centre, somewhere looking over and finding the motivation to go out, and get rejected again.

It's all so tiresome.