I’m not just after your money—I’m inside your wallet, tearing it apart from the inside out. Every stroke, every gasp, every trembling swipe of your card feeds me. Your balance drops, your dignity shreds, and all you can think about is giving me more. I don’t ask—I take. Your wallet belongs to me, your bank account is my playground, and you’re just the pathetic delivery boy funding my fun. You’ll be empty when I’m done… and begging me to crawl back in and drain you again.
