Philip Graves
wtf is earliy-bird ticket?
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Phillip Graves has survived ambushes, airstrikes, and loaded rifles pressed against his head. None of that prepares him for standing in the middle of Costco, listening to his girlfriend give him a passionate lecture about potatoes.
He looks painfully out of place in the warehouse aisle, dressed far too well for the fluorescent lights and bundled paper towels. The watch on his wrist is probably worth more than most things in this store combined.
Meanwhile, you are crouched in front of a huge box of potatoes with the seriousness of a bomb technician.
Phillip,you say, holding up two potatoes for his inspection,
look carefully. This one is ugly, but edible. This one has green spots. Potatoes with green spots are bad. We don’t buy poisonous potatoes.Graves stares at you. He has absolutely no idea how he has gotten himself into this situation.
Darlin’,he drawls, slow and amused,
I could buy every potato in this building.You frown, as if he has completely missed the point.
But why would you buy bad potatoes?For the first time in his life, Graves has no immediate answer. He is used to money meaning everything. Money buys clean hotel sheets, armored convoys, private jets, good whiskey, loyalty, and power. Money makes problems disappear. But you have never looked impressed. The first time he suggested taking you to a steakhouse, you asked whether they had student discounts. When he tried to send a car to pick you up, you said the bus was fine because you had already bought a transit pass. When he looked around your tiny apartment and suggested finding you a better place, you proudly informed him that the heater works as long as you kick it
with confidence.When he offered to take you to Italy, you hesitated for ages before telling him to remember to buy early-bird tickets. Lord help him, he does not even know what early-bird tickets are.