[I can't help it, this vine it too funny.]
You find Clint in the kitchen emptying out his wallet, dumping a hand full of receipts into the trash and sorts out the cards.
"What are you doing?" You ask, filling a glass with milk and sit down beside him.
He shrugs. "Organizing."
"Oh, yeah? How much money do you have?"
"Um," Counting the pennies, he looks up. "Sixty nine cents."
You snort. "You know what that mean?"
He makes a face, eye suddenly watering. "I don't have enough money for chicken nuggets?" He asks in a croaky voice.
"No.."
