He's So Not Worth It

Daily Field Journal of A

“Don’t worry, bud. I have a plan.”My father sat down on one of the two stools at the breakfast bar in the one-bedroom apartment he’d invited me to come check out with him in downtown Orchard Hill. The stools were the only furniture in the entire place and the one he’d chosen tipped as he sat down on it, the legs clearly uneven. The kitchen behind him had four cabinets, one stove, and no dishwasher, and the living room carpet was dotted with several nonspecific stains. Still, my dad had just signed the lease that now sat on the countertop next to him, so apparently this square apartment, those ancient stools, and even the scary stains were somehow part of his plan.“A plan for what?” I said.For explaining why you left? Or why you’re back? A plan for wi