In Rafael's House

      When Rafael came home with the news that his hours had been cut, his wife got very offended.

     "Papi," she said. "You think I'm going to love you any less because there's a little less money? You must think so little of me, or you must not remember where we came from, what things were like way back when."
     "I know, mami, but think about it. Think of all the things we won't be able to do."

     "We going to be able to eat?"
     "Well, yeah."
     "We going to be able to make rent?"
     "Yeah, of course."
     "Then what we need?"
     "Nice things."
     "There will be time for that, papi. There will be time for that."
     He smiled. "You're right, mami. We're going to be fine."
     "Better than fine, papi, and you know what? This is going to be the beginning of something big for us, I bet you. I bet you even though this seems like trouble, that it will end up being a big opportunity for us instead."
     "You think?"
     "No, papi. I know it."
     Rafael smiled. He had a good woman. He really did.

     "This mean we won't celebrate my birthday?" little David said.

     "No, no," Rosarita assured him. 

     "We going to celebrate your birthday in style!" Rafael said. "Don't you worry. You're going to have the best birthday of your life!"
     David giggled a little.

     What a wonderful thing it was to have family at a time like this one!

A Sudden Romance

     The thrill of a first kiss can never be diminished, except by shame afterward, if it represented a total loss of control, and the end result is a lover you can't stand to look at. But after Candy kissed Damien, she felt none of that. Damien felt none of that. Candy needed someone like Damien, someone with no cares. Damien needed Candy, someone with whom he'd be able to do everything he hoped, without the teenage awkwardness of convincing.

     They lie in the back of his car, looking at each other with knowing eyes, and kissing each other gently, before Candy spoke.

     "I'm in kind of a difficult situation with my boyfriend," she said.

     "Yes," Damien said.

     She sat up in the seat, coming back in her mind to the situation at her home.

     "I don't think I've gotten rid of him completely."
     "No," Damien agreed.

     "And then there's the rent, which will be due soon."
      Damien nodded.

     "Do you think..."
     "What?"
     "Do you think there's any chance your dad would advance me the money from my first check?"

     "Yeah, of course. Why wouldn't he?"
     "I don't know. He doesn't know me."
     "He would, if you explained it to him. You need to make rent."

     He looked kind of disinterested in the whole thing, which concerned Candy, as she thought he might take an interest in, even chip in, but he was just a kid. He didn't know anything about making rent. She liked that about him, that he hadn't yet been touched by the world and all of the difficult things to be found there, but then again, she was in a tough spot.

     She put on her doe eyes.

     "Would you explain it to him?"

     "Yeah, sure, no problem. I can explain it to him. But I really don't think it's that big a deal. You've already earned most of the money, anyway."

     "True."
     She cheered up again, and lay back down on the back seat. After a little while, they both went to sleep peacefully in each other's arms.

Alliance

      The way that people get to be on the street is different in every case, but the way they get off the street is always the same: someone takes some ownership of their existence and gets them off the street. Reason most people stay on the street so long is, there's no one to take ownership. The state doesn't want to. The city doesn't want to. The people of the city don't want to. It's leading citizens don't. Neighbors don't.

     Of course, people have trouble just taking care of themselves at times, but what's the excuse of the people buying their umpteenth home furnishing? Getting their second car? Second home? How much is ever enough for them to say, I can help my fellow, whom I see every day, struggling to survive?

     Sam found himself wandering for no particular reason, though he pinned things on Candy and then himself and then Candy again only to decide it was nobody's fault. But it didn't matter whose fault it was. He was locked out of the apartment and he didn't think Candy would ever let him back in.

     Lost in Candy's world, he had let his other friendship slip to shit. He now found himself in the awkward situation of having no one to call, and just meandering aimlessly, not knowing exactly where to go. That was just when he ran into Josh.

     "Down on your luck, bud?"
     "I.." Sam looked over at Josh and clammed up. He wasn't talking to no homeless person about his problems.

     "Women kicked you out, didn't she?"
     "How'd you know?"
     "Same thing happened to me about six years ago. Haven't recovered since."
     "Is that right?"
     "Have one piece of advice for you, though."
     Sam looked at him. "Let's hear it."
     "Don't tie one on tonight. Think of who to call while your phone still has service."
     "That's just in, though," Sam admitted despite himself. "I can't think of anyone to call."
     Josh sighed. "I'll tell you what. I know a guy who'll let you crash at his place if you, you know, do him some favors."
     "No way. I'm not doing that!"
     "Then search your thoughts, brother. Use the time wisely?"
     Sam looked through his phone and called the only person he could think of: his coworker.

     

Broker's Call

      Mr. D'Antoni was feeling finally, and totally relaxed when the phone rang. He thought of leaving it, as he was so totally relaxed, but he thought he'd at least see who it was. When he saw who it was, he thought of not answering, but he had to. When your broker calls, you answer.

     "Hey Bob," Mr. D'Antoni said.

     "Mr. D'Antoni, hi. How are you today."
     "Fine, fine. What's going on in the world of money?"
     "Well, I won't be coy about it, but we are getting hammered today. We've got some things to discuss."
     "What's the damage?"
     "Well, it's important not to look at things on a one-day or even one-week trend, because if you look at the whole year, we're still in the green. But we've got to reconfigure some things, I think, move some things around."
     "How much did we lose?"
     "You want to raw number from the last week?"
     "Yes."
     "193,484 dollars and some change."

     "This week?"
     "Yes, this week."

     "Wow."
     "But it's important to note, the whole portfolio is still in the green for the year. Not much, and we have to move quickly to shore up further losses. I think you should come into the office later. Is there a good time?"
     "I want to close out."
     "You want to what, Mr. D'Antoni?"
     "I want to close out. I want to get out."
     "You want me to sell everything?"
     "Yes, sell now. Sell everything."

     "Okay. I've got to execute these orders, though, and that takes time, so the portfolio may lose value overall still, just to warn you."
     "Well then get moving!" Mr. D'Antoni said.

     He hung up the phone and almost threw it, but then he decided that was probably not for the best.

     He had felt so relaxed just a second ago! But it was big trouble that was brewing, for so much was reliant on the income from those investments. And if he had to cover positions with other cash, he might not make the payments on some of his properties. He might have to sell some of his portfolio. Wow! What a terrible phone call.

     He tried to settle back into his relaxed state, but it was no use. He paid his bill and left, deciding it was best to go into the office and gauge what the damage could be.

     How much differently he felt driving into the city from the when he last left it! How free he had felt from all of it, and now he felt the work of it all severely, terribly. It had felt like an empire he had built; now it felt more like a house of cards.

     He supposed, it always was.

A Stern Warning

      Mrs. Drummel was usually pretty unconcerned about the market. Why? She had a whole house to run, with cooking and cleaning to do, and, when Damien was young, a child to take care of, and, when her parents had been alive, take care of them. She did not need anything more to do, plus Mr. Drummel could never be told what to do anyways.

     So when, going over the books, Mrs. Drummel became concerned, concerned enough to tell her husband to be concerned, he listened well. Sales were down. Profit was down. Costs were up. If Mr. Drummel was not careful, the business would start losing money every month, as it did generally the first three months of the year anyway. April was not a month to be losing money, but without a strong end to the month, it would be.

     The main drivers of declining profit were waste, which was not being tracked well, and labor, which was plain enough to see. There were too many people working for the amount of business they were doing, and it was time to rein back hours until business picked up again.

     "Santos and Rafael make too much money," Mrs. Drummel said finally. "I hate to put it like that, but that's the truth of the matter. We pay them about $4,000 a month to work here, but we only make $3,000 a month ourselves, after all expenses. Those two work hard, but no one works harder than you, dear. So, we got to find a way to even that out. Slowly, at first, but we need to make it happen by the end of the next month, change their expectations to 25-30 hours a week instead of 35-40."

     "How would that look?" Mr. Drummel said, looking at the schedule.

    "Well, we're going to have to make some tough decisions. Truth of the matter is, we need Santos right when the load arrives until basically two, when everything's been stocked and put away. Rafael is nice to have as a back-up, but I'd say, we can have him work one or even two fewer days a week. I mean, the load picks up on Thursday, and is heavy Friday and Saturday, but we could skip having him on Tuesday and Wednesday, or have him work Tuesday or Wednesday by himself, if you want to even out their hours."
    "Rafael could handle the Tuesday load by himself."
    "So we can have Santos come a little earlier, and leave earlier, and Rafael come a little later and leave about the same time, and have Tuesday Rafael by himself and Wednesday Santos by himself."

    "It'll be pretty thin."
    "May be, but it's better than our pantry being thin."
    "True."
    "Or us not be able to put Damien through college."
    "Yeah."
    "You just bought him a car."
    "Yeah."
    Mrs. Drummel knew that, as gruff as he was with "his boys"--that was, not his boy, but Santos and Rafael--he was very protective of them, and he was painfully aware that they had families. But Mrs. Drummel didn't feel much sympathy. They'd been paid a fortune over the years. If they hadn't stashed anything away for times like these, then they would have to learn sooner or later to save as much of what you make as you can. Going broke to protect them from the facts of life was foolhardy, to say the least.

    But, Mrs. Drummel thought, more than anything, it was her husband's pride in the whole thing. His pride in them, but he didn't realize that they only cared for him because he had a job for them. If he didn't have a business, they wouldn't even pretend to care about him. So, if he thought he was going to save their relationship, but not save his business, well, he'd have neither, in the end.

     So, instead of press him, Mrs. Drummel just closed the books and walked away, to leave her husband with his thoughts.

The Most Difficult Decision

      There really isn't much point to working when you think about it. Get food, eat food, sure, but it doesn't build towards anything except allows you to survive, and if you're smart enough about it, and work hard enough when you can, you can amass enough cash that surviving in some corner of the world welcoming to foreigners for a year or two years at a time is possible. If you're from another country originally, it is even easier, since you have family to look after your home while you are away, that is, if you don't mind them living in it, rent free.

      Working to survive is easy enough, but it doesn't feel empowering, at least not after the first few attempts. Especially when you see how much some in our society are rewarded for their hard work. See them get nice mansions, and cars and other wonderful toys. See them save for the children's education and get them through college and see them succeed even more than they did.

      Since it's not possible to do all these things at once, nor is there ever enough money for all of them anyway, it always seems enticing to buy a home. Financing for it is easy enough, and the payments are little more than the rent paid without equity. That is, if you don't mind spending your whole life savings for the privilege of possibly owning 25-30 years in the future.

      But it's hard to remember that there are downside risks to buying a home. The home could lose value. The payments could become difficult to make. And, if the payments become difficult to make, the bank can essentially invalidate the money paid into it, including the down payment which could have represented many years of comfortable living

     The dream, though, the dream of owning your own home is powerful enough to overcome these practical considerations.

     But for Santos, the dream died stillborn in his chest, and he was left with the funeral expenses. His whole life savings was gone; he was many thousands of dollars in debt; if he was not able to dodge eviction, he would have no place to live. And there was the shame. The shame of having to walk away. It was hard to live down the shame of not living up to his obligation.

     There was no way around it now, though. There was no escape from the lawman. Pretty soon the Sheriff would be by to put locks on the doors.

     There was one hope. The one hope was to refinance somehow, but that seemed too late. What could the bank possibly do to make it so he could stay in his home?
     There was only one escape from all these terrible thoughts, and that was to work. To work and to earn money and to see if it could possibly be enough. He knew it wouldn't be, but it was all he had for now. 

 

New Car

      The day Damien had been waiting for basically from the the time he was ten had finally arrived: his dad was getting him a brand new automobile.

     And, what's more, his dad did something that he hadn't done for a long time: he smiled.

     Something about seeing his son drive away from the lot with the car took him back to some memory from when he was a kid, or some forgotten wish from his teenage years. Damien didn't bother to ask, but he could see that his dad with overcome with some kind of emotion which broke down his wall of gruffness.

     Damien really couldn't remember a time, maybe not since he was a little kid, that his father seemed so relaxed.

     But when he thought about it, Damien realized his dad didn't smile much because work was time-consuming, difficult, and there seemed to be no end of it. That kind of took a little bit of the joy out of everything, but why rob his father of this joy, he thought.      

Delinquent Letter

      Esteban's tio shoved a letter in his face first thing in the morning.

     "What is this?" he said.

     Esteban had no idea, but he tried to make sense of it, because he had to, apparently.

     He opened it up. It looked like a scam, initially, like one of those scam letters credit card places send you to trick you. But it had a Wells Fargo letterhead and had a notice at the top.

     "You're payment is delinquent," it said in bold letterhead. "Make arrangements immediately or action so that you will vacate the below address will commence."

     Esteban looked down. His father's address was there, with a total due at the bottom. Esteban owed $15,357, and it was all past due. He didn't think his father had more than seven or eight hundred dollars to his name. How was it possible?

     He called, but there was no answer at the house.

     He thought of calling the market, but why? He'd meet his father later. He'd ask him what all this meant. Of course, he was pretty sure what it meant. It meant to bank was taking the house, after only eight months. Where would his father and mother and little brother live?

     Where would they move all their stuff? So much to do. It seemed silly to go to school that day, but there was no choice, he guessed. No choice but to pretend as if all this wasn't happening and just go through the motions.

     His tio wouldn't let it alone, though. He kept shoving the letter back in his face every time he put it back down on the counter, so, not knowing what else to do, Esteban shoved it in his backpack and ran to the bus stop.

     He just barely made it before the school bell rang.

     In his biology lab, he thought about what it could mean for his future. He didn't see any way around dropping out of school. He knew his dad would fight it, but how could he make a bunch of money really quickly and also go to school at the same time?

     He decided his dad would just have to listen to him for now and let him take over for a second.

Fuck-Up

      Rafael could feel the stack slipping out of his hands in slow motion. He pushed his weight into the middle of the stack, hoping at least part of it would stay together, but no, the whole thing imploded on itself and vegetables and produce rolled everywhere.

     He turned bright red, and Santos came running. Mr. Drummel came out, but did nothing, just glared with fire burning in his eyes.

     Santos was a wonder when it came to make everything okay. But he had to listen to everything Santos said and wait for everything to come out okay. In the heat of that moment, with produce flying into traffic and everything they did seemingly creating a new and unexpected panicked attempts to put everything back together in the perfect stack it had come in, the whole thing seemed impossible. It was impossible, but Santos had faith in himself. It had to work, and so it did.

     "I'm sorry," Rafael said after the fact.

     "It's okay, man, we made the best of it."
     "No, Santos. You really saved the day."
     "I guess I did, but don't think about it. We got too much to do to think about it."
     Rafael stopped him. "No, you got to know it, man. You made it good. You made it okay."
     Santos stopped 'Thank you," he said simply.

     When Rafael thought about it, he realized he needed someone strong like Santos; he couldn't do it alone. He didn't always feel that way, but today he really did.

     But there was nothing to worry about, because Santos would always be there. Day in, day out, he was like a rock, and out of his strength the whole business was precariously perched. 

Last Shift

     Candy woke up late. That was the first thing. Then she was late to class, and late to work. She had a choice. Just say she was sorry or make a big stink out of everything and walk out, and, well, maybe it was the lack of money in her pocket or maybe it was the fact that she fought with her boyfriend the previous night or maybe she just didn't get enough sleep but she chose to do the latter.

     And so she walked out to an uncertain future. but she was absolutely sure she had made the right decision. Except for the money part. That was the part she was unsure of.

     She had some time to kill. If she went back to the apartment, she would get into a fight. The pretty constant fight, about money. Where to get it, how much they had, what they should do with it. It was never-ending. Well, it wasn't completely never-ending, because Candy had an idea to leave the situation entirely, just like she had left the situation at the restaurant.

     She had to gameplan, though. It was not something she could manage overnight.

     The time ticked slowly, waiting for her new job, at the grocery market. It seemed so impossible, this transition, waiting on money, waiting on enough money, leaving her boyfriend if she could. Impossible waiting. But she knew things could not go on as they were.

Early Morning Wake-Up Call

       The routine was fairly familiar to Josh by now. A light would flash from the woods, and it would stop, placed firmly on his belongings. A car door would open and then slam closed. Before long, an officer would be shining a flashlight in his face.

      Sometimes he'd go to the trouble of starting to dispose of his belongings by engaging a garbage truck to take them away, so Josh had to be quick about gathering everything.

      Then would begin the long walk with whatever he could carry in the dawn hours looking for somewhere he could place it all.

      But this cop was a little different. He told Josh to stop. He told Josh to give over his ID.

      "My ID?" he said. "I don't have one."
      "You don't have ID? Of any kind? Anything?"
      "Nope," Josh said.

      "Why don't you empty the contents of that bag you got."
      "Why? What for?"
      "So I can see if you're lying to me."
      And sure enough, Josh dumped the contents on the grass and out popped his expired Kansas state Driver's License.

      "This yours?"

      "It may be."

      "Wait here," he said and went back to his car.

      Josh thought about bailing, but he had a feeling that, dragging all of his stuff, there would not be much of a chance of escape.

      When the officer came back, he handed back the card.

      "There's a missing person report on you. Do you mind coming in to the station house and giving your statement?"
      "What do you mean? Am I under arrest."
      "No. But somebody looking for you. A family member, perhaps."
      "Somebody looking for me?"

      "Yeah. You want to come in out of the cold for a minute, have a chat?"
      "No."
      "Okay. Maybe there's a family member out there trying to say they're sorry, they want you to come back."
      "There's no one."
      "Why don't you find out?"
      "I just want to go, officer."
      "Go where? Where are you going to?"
      Josh shrugged.

      "Someone at home wants you back, it sounds like."

      "There's no one," Josh said in a low voice.

      The officer nodded, and walked away.

      But the truth was, when Josh thought about it, there was somebody. There was his whole family. They couldn't all still be mad at him, when he thought about it. Hell, maybe it was all in his head, after all. But he wasn't going to go into the belly of the beast, no. Too close to jail for his tastes. Best not to risk it by going into a police station at all.

 

A Wonderful Time

     Mr. D'Antoni went out on the balcony with his champagne.

     "Frederico!" he heard a voice. Anita Caldwell was waiting for him. "It's so nice to see you," she said. "What a wonderful season we are having this year!" 

     This year, Mr. D'Antoni was on the board of the Opera, and his taking the board had just so happened to coincide with a wonderful season, so perhaps their praise was unfounded, but, nonetheless, Fred was happy to take the praise. It was so nice to be wanted. Of course, for fifty thousand dollars, he supposed it was only fair.

     "It is, isn't it?"
     "Won't you join us at the vineyard this weekend?"
     "I suppose I could, Anita! I'll be in Napa starting tomorrow."
     "Oh, give me a ring, please, please, and don't be afraid to bring a guest!"
     "Guest? Who ever would I bring?"

     She smiled.
     Just then, the house lights flickered. Intermission was over.

     Mr. D'Antoni put his glass on the tray of a waiter and threw out his arm to escort Anita back to her seat.

     She smiled and squeezed his arm tightly.

     "Would you rather join me in the box?" he said.

     "That would be wonderful!" she said.

     And they walked down the short flight of stairs to the secured landing that lead to the board's box.

     Why, Anita Caldwell wouldn't be a bad friend to have, he thought to himself. Had to be practically a billionaire, and, wouldn't you know it, not a single soul in the world to share it all with now that her late husband had passed.

     He felt a burst of excitement looking at everyone introducing themselves and finding their seat. It really, felt, for it really was, that the height of San Francisco high society were gathering, and he was firmly among them!

     Oh, if this night could never end!

Closing Time

     When 7 hit, Mr. Drummel could be found upstairs, counting the money and, generally, feeling the completion of the day. Santos came up as he always did and said, "the bins are inside and the street is swept."
     And, like he always did, Mr. Drummel said. "Thank you. Have a good night."
     And just like that, Santos went away, and Mr. Drummel was alone. No one knew, but Mr. Drummel didn't immediately finish his tasks. No, he sat there at the desk, and he daydreamed about all the things he thought he'd be doing with the stage of life he was now in. The places he'd be seeing. The beaches he'd be on. And no, he wasn't close to abandoning it all for those distant environs, but he had to move away in his mind from his place of business in the moment when he could. In the moments before his wife would be expecting him.

     It was the necessary therapy to repair his feeling of being hostage to his circumstances, because it was a 12 hour a day seven day a week job he had crafted for himself, and, quite frankly, he was an old man now, the age at which people sit alone in their garages whittling wood with a baseball game on.

     But, a little bit of daydreaming went a long way to feeling better, to feeling like he could wake up again at 5:30 in the morning and do it all over again. Of course, his wife was always amenable to opening up without him, but the day was always too fast for him when he waited to show up, though his body would sometimes not comply with his wishes for it and he would be left with no choice.

     He thought about his son, and whether his son would take his place when he got older, and it seemed unlikely. He wanted to go to Arizona in the fall, and Anders had a feeling his son would not be back soon. In the summers, sure, but then he'd expect to get a job in an office, and go on and do great things.

     Santos, yes, Santos could take it over, but if Santos were working 12 hours a day seven days a week, he couldn't really pay him. He'd have to be a part owner, and just do all that work basically for free. He didn't think Santos really would. Anders didn't really think he should himself. What kind of life was that?

     So, he thought to himself, he ought to sell. Ought to sell to someone at the age where he had begun, ready to invest young energy into the place and make it beautiful again. But when he thought of selling his business, he thought, what was it worth? A hundred thousand, at least. But a million dollars? No one would pay it. Half a million? If he was lucky. Assuming 30 more years of life, that was just $17,000 a year. That was enough to eat and pay the bills, but not anything more.

     And what about Damien's college? His graduation? When he wanted to start a family? When he had a child? Or several children? Their education? Their families? Would he be a pauper, after all that hard work?

     There was nothing to do with it, except work it. To keep working it until the wheels fell completely off, and hope that somehow, still, things worked out.

     And that's just how he'd have to live.

     

Me Time

     Damien waited a minute after his father left to slide into the computer chair. He had a game waiting for him and he resumed it.

     A nice afternoon of computer play, he thought. Nothing much to do except homework. And he had plenty of time to do that. Plenty of time to not do it, more like, he thought, and laughed to himself.

     The only better than playing computer games, he thought, was getting paid to play computer games. Assuming dad didn't walk in and have something for him to do, of course.

     Just then, he heard his father walking up the stairs and a woman's voice trailing his.

     Damien clicked close the game and broke open his backpack.

     "Do you want to make some space?" Mr. Drummel said.

     "No problem, dad."

     "This is Candy. She wants to be a cashier here, in the afternoons."
     "You don't want her to meet mom?"
     "Well of course I want her to, but we can try anybody."
     "So," Mr. Drummel said. "You are working, aren't you?"
     "Yes. I'm a host at a restaurant."
     "Have you had any other jobs?"
     "Yeah, a ton of them."
     Mr. Drummel's eyebrows went up like a cartoon, but he said nothing. "Anything you think makes you qualified for this job?"
     "I can do anything, Mr. Drummel. I'm pretty good with customers and I work really hard. I think I can pick it up pretty quickly."
     Mr. Drummel nodded.

     "Well, can you work this afternoon, see how it goes?"
     "Without a doubt," Candy said. "When should I start?"
     "Well, Stacy comes in in just a minute. I can have you work with her. She works until 7:30."

     "Cool."
     "You should fill out an application, though, if you don't mind."

     "Yeah, no problem."
     Mr. Drummel took out a standard application from the file cabinet and gave her a clipboard and a pen, which he ran against a random piece of paper on his desk to make sure it worked.

     "You want to get her a fresh time card?" Mr. Drummel asked his son.

     Damien nodded, and got one from the cabinet under the time clock.

     "Thank you, Damien."
     Mr. Drummel, rather fastidiously, made out the time card, and when Candy had finished the application, he showed her how to punch in, and how she would punch out, as well. Like clockwork, Stacey came up the stairs and put her bag on the hooks by the stairs, and unwrapped her scarf.

     "Hey, Mr. Drummel."

     "Hey, Stacy. So this is Candy. We're going to try her out today. She's going to be with you, learning from you."
     "Cool. Should I stay up here?"
     "No, that's okay. We'll meet you down there in just a second."
     "Okay," she said, smiling her Cheshire cat grin. She punched in and then ran down the stairs."

     "Stacy's great. You're going to like her."
     "I think so," Candy said.

     Damien really didn't like Stacy. She talked down to him all the time. So, he had to say, he liked Candy better already. In fact, there was something about her he really liked. And he thought he saw her looking at him as well.

     But it would probably not be so wise to pursue it just yet. He didn't want to cause any trouble until she had gotten her feet wet.

     Mr. Drummel got up and went down the stairs to pass Candy off to Stacy.

     "Nice to meet you," Candy said, and her eyes sparkled.

     "Nice to meet you, too," Damien said.

     The desk was now free, but he didn't really feel the call. He was in a daze a little bit, thinking that there was some connection between them. Wonder what she'd do, he thought. He had a feeling, everything.

     

An Uncomfortable Pause

     Every day at 2 PM, Santos had to stop what he was doing and get off the clock for two hours. He started just before 8, but had to stay until almost 7. Mr. Drummel had come to him some years ago, after another guy had quit, and told him he either needed to hire somebody or else do that. Since Santos knew if he hired someone else, his hours would get cut, he had agreed to this schedule with an uncomfortable pause. It had allowed for him to go home in previous times, even take a short nap if he was careful about waking again, but two hours was not enough time to get to his house in Antioch and back.

     So instead he spent some minutes outside, then some minutes walking around, then some minutes in his car, then some minutes standing outside, and then a good amount of time inside the store's back area, waiting to clock back in.

     Every time he did this, he got a little more agitated with it. He just wanted to work, to get through the day, be done with his day, and leave. The only good thing about it, was it allowed him to chat with his son for a few minutes before he started at 3, but his son, aggravatingly, had chosen these days to show up just on time or even a few minutes late.

     He offered to pick his son up, but he stubbornly refused. He told his dad, no big deal if I get fired. Big deal if you get fired.

     The truth was, Esteban wanted a little bit of time to himself before he went to work, and he rode the bus with a cute girl he liked who happened to live in the Richmond District.

     So, Santos would spend the last minutes of his "break" watching the clock, thinking he should call his son or else get in the car and try to find him to pick him up, when he realized there was no need. His son would stroll in just at that most fevered time, and say, with no self-awareness, "hey dad."

     Today was a little different, though, because Esteban was still not here, and it was 3:11. Mr. Drummel came upstairs, to see if Esteban had arrived. Santos threw up his hands. "Should I give him a call?"
     "That's okay, I will," Mr. Drummel said. "It's his job not yours."
     Just then, Damien came up, too, as he had obviously just been picked up by his dad. "That kid is always pushing it," he heard the kid say as he came up the stairs.

     A fire burned in Santos' eyes, but he turned away at the last second to avoid a staring contest with the boy.

     Just then, a sharp snap and Esteban came up the stairs. "There you are," Mr. Drummel said.

     "Sorry I'm say, Mr. Drummel. Just barely missed the bus."
     "You should let your father pick you up."

     "I think you're right, Mr. Drummel. I'm sorry."
     "You want to touch up the bananas, first, and work on cold beverages?"
     "No problem, Mr. Drummel. I got you."
     He threw on an apron and ran downstairs. Meanwhile, Damien picked a nice comfortable spot on the couch behind the desk and lay back.

     "He's a good kid," Mr. Drummel said. "But he needs to show up on time."
     Santos nodded, but said nothing.

     Forty minutes to go.