Playing Broke, Pushed Out

Reunion night. I took off my $600K watch, threw on a plain sweater, flew home to play broke. Cornered, exiled to the kitchen, 'forgotten,' cropped from the photo, dumped in the rain, while the whole room worshipped a fake tycoon's renting cars. Only my tailor bestie slid me her steak. Only the diner kept its light on. I had to know who'd love me broke. But my lie is pushing the only real one away—and those who cropped me out? They're burning my gala down with my bestie's own craft.