“They give ten percent of the produce out to poor families and homeless shelters each week,” she added as she finally handed him the paper.
Okay, Izzy had to give this Justin person some credit, rich or not.
The sheet in his hand stated working hours and potential housing on the property in case the worker was homeless or didn’t have a reliable vehicle. That might come in handy if he lost his shit at the house he shared with five other people who were all either ex-cons or kids who had aged out of the foster system.
“So you think I could do this?” he asked, looking at her over the edge of the paper.
He hated that he needed the validation, but she was the closest to a suitable authority figure for that he’d had in a decade.