Vince

“And just like that, my spirits lift. “That means you know where the food is.” “Oh!” Grace says. “You missed dinner.” “That sucks,” Suzy says. “It was lamb merguez—” “With a warm carrot salad—” “And an orange-basil granita—” “There might be some leftovers?” I scratch the back of my neck and look away. “That sounds lovely, but I was sort of hoping I could just make myself a peanut butter sandwich.” Grace slides down off the counter. “Don’t be silly, I’ll make you some pasta—what do you want? Puttanesca? Arrabbiata?” I feel a frown coming on; I fight it back. “A sandwich is fine, really.” She adjusts her glasses and plants her hands on her hips. “My dad would seriously disown me if he knew I fed someone a peanut butter sandwich for dinner.” “But I don’t want pasta. I want a peanut butter sandwich”
― Elizabeth Little, Pretty as a Picture

“Mass resistance was possible only when people believed they had the collective capacity to change things. For poor people, this required identifying with the oppressed, and counting yourself among them—which was something most trailer park residents were absolutely unwilling to do.”
― Matthew Desmond, Evicted: Poverty and Profit in the American City