Personal Narrative: My Occupy Grocery

i stole the crisp ten dollar bill you let on the edge of the table for your waitress, and not my grimy six year old hands. i had grown up desperately hunting for left over change in the dim lit, laundry matt's in Dallas, Texas. So my unvirtous Mother, and Father could afford the fifty cent balogne packages at the rickety local grocery store. On a good day i would invariably fall asleep, with my belly roaring for food, due to my parents undying love for the devils drug,
heroin.