was working on this book. He was supposed to stay at my
house. I new him out, paid for him to be out here in LA.
When he got here, I bought him all these clothes. All this
stuĉ he wanted. Everything he asked for, I got it. Got him an
iPhone 7, even.
ͳen I woke up on Monday, and he was just gone. He
decided to take the Greyhound home. I called him:
Tiffany: “You know you had a plane ticket to go back
to wherever you came from.”Dad: “No, I just decided to take the Greyhound, ’cause
you made me feel like a pauper.”Tiffany: “How did I make you feel like a pauper?”Dad: “Because, you think you’re better than me!”Tiffany: “When did I ever say I was better than you?”Dad: “You walk around like you’re better than me.”Tiffany: “What do you mean? Everything you asked
for, I gave you. Anything you wanted, you had. How is
that better than you?”He hung up on me.
My friend told me that the answer to my question was
right there, in his answers. He pointed out to me what he
was trying to say, but couldn’t say. ͳis is what my friend