Huddled Masses Yearning

emilia was in town last night. emilia is nineteen.

she's an old friend. i've known her since before she was born.

madhavi and me took her and her boyfriend out for sushi. we ate gobs of sushi. and drank sake.

when the check came, a funny thing happened.

i realized that it was mine.

up until last night, i don't think i've ever been the one who, making more money, being more established, playing the host, naturally picked up the check.

i mean, i've treated people countless times before, but never quite like that. i saw the check come and i saw emilia offer her wallet, and i saw reflected in her myself. doing the same thing on countless occassions -- knowing full well that there was no way i'd be asked to pitch in.

and now the tables have turned. emilia is nineteen and i'm thirty-two. she goes to NYU and i work 9 to 5. i'm a decade older than her and it's my treat. it's payback time.

give me your tired, your poor, your huddled masses yearning to breathe free, the wretched refuse of your teeming shore. send these, the homeless, tempest-tossed to me. i lift my lamp beside the golden door. i'll pick up the check.