He said it like a man who’d lived long enough to see the same trick in different outfits.
I sat back on the couch beside him.
No scrolling. No ordering. No distraction.
Just the hum of the TV and the weight of reality.
After a while, Frank spoke without looking at me.
“You know what’s going to happen next?” he asked.
“What?” I said.
He finally turned toward me, eyes steady.
“You’re going to have a bad day,” he said. “And you’re going to want to buy relief.”
My chest tightened.
“And you’re going to tell yourself you deserve it,” he continued.
I didn’t answer.
Frank nodded slowly, like he could already see it.
“When that day comes,” he said, “I want you to do one thing.”
Here it was.
The instruction.
The secret trick.
I braced myself.
Frank pointed toward the kitchen.
“Make eggs,” he said.
I stared at him.
“That’s it?” I said.
“That’s it,” he said.
He shrugged.
“Eggs won’t fix the world,” he said. “But they’ll keep you from paying thirty dollars to feel okay for fifteen minutes.”
I laughed once, sharp and humorless.
Then my phone buzzed on the coffee table.
A notification.
Not from an app I’d deleted.
From my bank.
A low-balance alert.
I picked it up and stared.
Frank didn’t ask what it was.
He already knew.