I hated this place. I hated it so, so much. The constant noise of traffic and police sirens, how I could never see the sun rise or set from my small apartment, how I had to wear a stiff suit every day. I kicked a couple of small rocks, and their clatter was lost among the dozens and dozens of bustling feet.

I wanted to get away from this city, from my dull and repetitive cubicle job. I wanted to go out to a small town in the middle of nowhere and open a daycare. I could spend all day taking care of kids, instead of filing papers and sorting documents. I could make people happy, instead of sitting on my butt all day doing nothing truly productive.

I’d still have to get up early, that I knew, but it’d be worth it to see the sunrise and happy screaming toddlers, to wear a bright shirt and jeans every day, to be able to feel like I make a difference in the world. That’s what I’d gotten my degree for, so I could take care of kids; not so I could sit in some gray building in a suit that didn’t let me move, typing away at a computer and doing nothing to benefit anyone.

My gloomy reverie was broken by something softer than concrete under my shoe. I glanced down and saw that I’d stepped on someone’s wallet. I quickly picked it up and kept moving, half from excitement, half because I didn’t want to hold up pedestrian traffic.

As I walked toward the neighborhood that held my apartment building, I checked the wallet. I saw from the driver’s license it belonged to some guy who looked like he was upper middle class, but I didn’t bother remembering his name. There were a couple coupons, a Chipotle gift card, and what must have been $600 in cash.

I almost dropped the wallet. That was four times the extra cash I could afford to put into my daycare fund! That was enough to pay for three months in my apartment!

I could take it, I thought. I could take it and no one would be the wiser. I could slip it into my daycare fund and be that much closer to getting out of here.

I closed the wallet and turned away from my neighborhood, heading toward the nearest police station. I couldn’t take this money; it belonged to someone. What if this was the only money this man had? What if he wasn’t upper middle class, and this was what it took to pay for his apartment and utilities?

Besides, I chided myself, it would throw off my plan. It would take me six months to get enough cash together to move from this city. I had already picked out a nice little town three states away, and it would take me most of four months to find a place to set up my daycare. If I took this cash, I knew I’d move prematurely and have no job and no place to live.

I took a breath. Six months. Six months and I’d be out of this city. I just had to keep going. I could make it that long. I’d made it this far, after all, and I wasn’t going to quit in the home stretch.