Hungry Daughters of Starving Mothers – Alyssa Wong

As my date—Harvey? Harvard?—brags about his alma mater and
Manhattan penthouse, I take a bite of overpriced kale and watch his ugly
thoughts swirl overhead. It’s hard to pay attention to him with my
stomach growling and my body ajitter, for all he’s easy on the eyes.
Harvey doesn’t look much older than I am, but his thoughts, covered in
spines and centipede feet, glisten with ancient grudges and carry an
entitled, Ivy League stink.

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