The fluorescent lights of the hummed a low, electric tune as Maya pushed her shopping cart past a rack of sequined prom dresses. She had exactly forty-eight dollars in her bank account and a job interview at a high-end marketing firm in precisely three days.

Next, she moved to the of a nearby department store, hunting for the "basics." She bypassed the trendy neon displays and headed straight for the back corners where the staples lived. She found a crisp white button-down, slightly wrinkled but pure cotton, marked down to twelve dollars because it was missing a single cuff button.

On the morning of the interview, Maya stood before her mirror. The blazer was steamed, the button replaced, and the loafers shone. She didn’t look like someone scraping by; she looked like someone who belonged.