"Yes Father."

"Anything you want, father."

Were there any other words you would say?

"There's my perfect daughter."

You weren't perfect and never will be. You wanted so much more then just be cramped inside an office—more like jail—all day. Much more than just count the endless money that your family owns. Much more than marry who your father told you to.

You wanted to be free, to find your own personality, to find your own true love.

You saw him from the window of your car. Helmet on, cigarette in place, scooter printed: Chicken Delivery. Perfect.