“Listen,” I said with gritted teeth. “Just give us one more month! I heard about a job…”
“I’m sorry but there are no more extensions,” interrupted the smug banker in the polyester suit.
I lowered my head and softened my voice to a plea. “Listen, I’m begging you, just let our daughter harvest her 4H pumpkin crop before you evict us. Please. She’s worked so hard on this.”
“No. More. Extensions. You will vacate the premises by Friday morning or we will have you removed from the property.”
I slammed the door, hard, on the way out of his office.