"Plaire," you reply. "What was all that about?"

"Mondol," says Maria. "Or MondolGroup, or whatever the--" She catches herself before loudly cursing in front of a customer again, "--the gentlemen from MondolMall call themselves."

"I've been hearing Mondol a lot today," you mutter.

"You new in town?," Maria asks. "You are going to keep hearing it. They're supposed to be some indie startup group coming out of the cities--trying to fill the void all these big, sinking corporations are leaving behind. The problem is, these assholes--" she realizes she said it as soon as it leaves her mouth, but she can only pause and keep going, "--act just like a billion dollar corporation. We don't need any of that here, and I am NOT going to let them buy out a business I worked my ass off for! They've already plowed through every other grocer in town."

"It is a lot of money, though," her dad comments. "You could live the rest of your life on that." He does suggest it casually--not pushing, just making sure his daughter is still seeing all her options.

"I'd be living the rest of my life in a mall," Maria counters. "They have started doing apartments! Mondol's going to eat the whole town. There will be nothing left but Mondol, and the food will be garbage! It all tastes like radiation and slave labor."

Maria spins back around to aggressively inform you, "All of the fruits and vegetables here are grown on-site."

"Our meat and eggs guy is a friend of mine," adds Maria's dad. "He lives up higher in the mountains."

"Milk, too," Maria adds a little more calmly. "And he introduced us to our bread guy--we owe him a lot, actually. ANYWAY." Maria once more twists her attention from her father to you. "What can we do for you?"

"I... uh..." In all the hot gossip and flaring passions, you almost forgot why you walked in. "I need food." Of course you do, dingus. "Healthy, easy to prepare... but also cheap." Yes, good, your tone suggested it was all one coherent thought, planned that way from the beginning.

Maria squints behind her glasses. "And what is your budget like?"

"I don't have one," you admit bluntly. "I have the money in my pocket and a house that's paid up for a while. I have microwavables with enough sodium to kill me in a week, tops. I have no idea how to cook. Fire scares me a little."

This time you stun her, making you the winner.

"...Alright," she says, adjusting her glasses. "I'm not a psychiatrist, but: you can learn the basics of cooking online. Don't use any flavor packets that come with your noodles--swap them with real seasoning, real meat and real vegetables."

"Huh," you mutter. "You're pretty good at this."

Maria smiles a little, in spite of the frustration still bleeding in from earlier. "I've had to do it before. Aside from noodles, you should look into rice, and eggs are pretty cheap..."

She takes some time explaining to you what you can do for cheap, healthy foods, and figure out some of the pricing. You're pretty sure you can stock up for the rest of the month, but it would leave you with no money. If you try to swing it half and half--actual food and cheap food-like products, alternating so you don't get scurvy--you think you could walk away with almost no money.

"Worst case," Maria adds, "if you're completely broke and you need food, let me know. I've worked with a few people in town already, it's not a big deal." She leans in a little, staring you down. "...But if you're not completely broke this is a business, not a charity."

"Maria," her dad begins, "weren't you just mad this morning because you gave away all our leftover--"

"Now is not the time, Papá."

Her dad continues, fighting back a grin. "And that blind guy who rides the bus. He only comes in when he knows you're here because you keep gi--"

"Papá."


You should probably decide how much of your money you'll spend on not eating poison.