Arthur handed over the hundred-dollar bill. The steak was expensive—retail prices for USDA Prime could reach nearly $80 per pound at specialty shops—but he didn't flinch. He watched as the butcher counted out his change, but Arthur barely noticed the coins. He was focused on the heavy, cool weight of the package in his hand.
The air in Arthur’s small apartment was thick with the scent of cheap instant coffee and the hum of a refrigerator that had seen better decades. He sat at a scarred wooden table, staring at a single, crisp hundred-dollar bill. It was the first time in three years he’d had a surplus, a small "thank you" bonus from a freelance accounting gig that had actually paid on time. buy filet mignon
He sat at his scarred table, the single plate in front of him. There were no sides, no distractions—just the steak. When he pressed his knife against the crust, it gave way with a delicate crunch, revealing a center that was a uniform, glowing pink. Arthur handed over the hundred-dollar bill