the_cost_of_living tender_square i am outside on a hammock in a busy beach area. two patio umbrellas are overlapping overtop of the hammock, shielding me from the sun. one is purple and the other is a creamy gold. suddenly, the umbrellas crumple and blow away. i get up from the hammock and take a few steps behind me to sit at a concrete bench against a wall. a young indian woman takes a seat to my immediate right, violating my space bubble. i shove over to the left. she repeats the process and, again, sits too close to me. i get up and walk a few feet to a bench that’s a little further in front. she follows but remains seated on the back bench. i am looking out at the wide swathe of sand and the bodies like ants in the distance. she begins a conversation with me saying, “i am new here and it is so expensive to live.” i don’t turn towards her as i am concerned she’s hitting me up for money. “i am a writer trying to blog about my experiences but i only have, like, one reader. would you mind taking a look?” i get up from my seat. “yeah, it’s really hard to hold people’s attention out there,” i tell her. as i stand, i look at her face. she is wearing a bubblegum pink lip gloss but she also has a five o’clock shadow. i circle around the building we were seated in front of. it seems the only way to leave the scene is to cross in front of this young woman, until i enter the building. i encounter a table of college students at a round table. one is working on a research project where she is talking about poverty, or those who are living close to losing all they have. she says she has found that two thirds of her study respondents will be affected based on her calculations about the likelihood of struggle. her professor is nearby and says she can’t believe these numbers, they paint a grim picture. “you’d think that even these participants at middle age would be in a better place financially, but we’re finding they’re one of the most affected groups.” i nod in agreement and say it’s terrible, how high the cost of living is, and how it’s pushing us all to the edge of a cliff. i think about getting coffee. i know there is some in a mini-fridge in another professor’s office, the husband of the female professor i’m speaking to. as i approach the open door, i see a figure stretched out on a couch with a white sheet, an ice pack on their head, and a thermometer sticking out of their mouth, a cartoon image of illness. i decide not to go in and converse with this man but debate internally whether i could go in undetected for what i want. it’s not worth the risk, i decide. the blonde female professor is going through grocery bags and attempting to find homes for the items therein. i ask whether there’s anything i can take downstairs for her. “you can take down the water,” she says, as she sorts through a six ring of cans. i paw through a plastic bag and see carrots and green onions, celery and peppers, everything thinly sliced, some of it packaged, some of it loose. i hook my arm through the arm holes in the bag and take it with me. the professor doesn’t hand over the water. she rubs the coffee table the bag had been sitting on to rid any standing water with the hem of her shirt. she assures me, “it’s just a knot” as i watch her wipe the table and notice an imperfection in the grain. 230813 what's it to you? who go blather from