Chapter 6: The Last Lunch

I carried the lunches back to the job site. The sky was starting to cloud over, the air thick with the promise of rain. I handed out the boxes, setting the rest on the tailgate of my truck.

I told Tony to call the guys who hadn’t eaten yet and said I’d treat them. He grinned weakly, texting fast with grease-stained fingers.

Tony passed out the lunches, muttering, “At least misery loves company,” and a few guys managed a weak laugh. Tony ate as he complained, “Is this really worth $4.50?” He picked at the food, pushing the potatoes around with his fork, but hunger always wins in the end.

Another guy chimed in, “Mike really changes his menu depending on the customer. He grins ear to ear at those students.” He shook his head, lips pursed, like he couldn’t decide whether to be angry or impressed.

I took a sip of coffee. “That’s because they’re easy money. Didn’t you see what’s in the student lunches? At most a couple ounces of rice, a few leaves of lettuce, a few strands of shredded potato, not a single piece of roast beef—just a few cubes of tofu.” The coffee was bitter, but it washed down the disappointment.

Tony looked shocked. “He sells it like this, and the students still buy it?” Tony’s mouth hung open, a bite of bread paused in midair. Around us, the city hummed—horns blaring, the echo of drills and hammers, and the muted laughter of students across the street. It hit me then—sometimes the place you help build is the first to turn its back on you.

I watched Mike through the window, laughing with the dance kids. Next week, when the cafeteria opened and both crews were gone, I wondered if he’d finally taste the emptiness he’d served us.