The Stiff Smile of Salvador’s Cat
By: Antoni Klopotowski
Tags: Christmas, American Dream, Mexico, Cats, Immigrants

The Stiff Smile of Salvador’s Cat

12/12/2021

“Sometimes the nicest people you meet are covered in tattoos and sometimes the most judgmental people go to church on Sundays.”

Facebook post, 2010’s

The men are to show up for work at 5 a.m.

It is still night to the west, but the eastern sky has just begun to bloom gray. The fog that floats into the San Francisco Bay from the Pacific Ocean every night lays softly like a brisk, gray, misty shawl. The fog changes sounds, absorbs them, bedews them, so the night is near silent. This is the sole little charm of having to awake for work at such an early hour. The men wear dirty jeans, cheap, drugstore-bought long sleeve shirts, dirty gloves, worn work boots, and bright orange safety vests. The vests shine under bright white glaring floodlights. Two dozen garbage trucks stand in rows. In the shadow of one of these trucks, the sanitation workers smoke cigarettes and wait.

“Where the hell is he?” Bryan’s brows furrow as he takes a drag. He is the tallest of the men, with blonde hair that looks freshly cut, a scar down the cheek of his newly-shaven face, and a rough, strong build. “I forgot y’all are new. He always does this…”

“Maybe he got his schedule mixed up. He works 3 jobs, you know.” Matt says in his quiet, frail voice. He sits on the steps of the truck. His clothes hang heavy on his skinny, lanky body. His shoulders slump. Greasy brown hair falls over his eyes. His cigarette crackles as he takes a drag; the end glows.

“You want a cigarette, Salvador?” Bryan asks.

“No,” Salvador says, “I do not smoke.”

Salvador doesn’t strike as somebody who’d played many sports as a youth. His arms crossed, he stands at the side of the truck, his worried gaze behind glasses down-cast. He is a short man, a whole foot shorter than Bryan is, yet he makes up in burliness for what he lacks in height. The leg of his jeans has a long white stain. His work boots are torn.

“Every goddamn morning…” Bryan sighs, his breath visible. His arms crossed, he flicks the ash off his cigarette. “He had to be on a day like this…”

Matt takes a heavy, deep, thoughtful drag and exhales smooth gray smoke into the morning.

“You smoke that like a guy who’s smoked his fair share of cigarettes.” Bryan smiles a stiff smile.

“I’ve smoked a lot more than that, man…” Matt takes another deep, crackling drag and inhales through his teeth. “This is better than the alternatives available, you know what I mean?”

“I do, man. Those alternatives you’re talkin’ ‘bout are awful and cruel. They’ll ruin a life. Best thing to do is keep your eyes the other way, work, and stay clean, man.”

“Maybe we should go.” says Salvador, uneasy. “I have to get my pay this week. I can’t be late another time.”

“There’s no way they can tell when we get out of here, but you’ve got a good point man.“ Bryan says. “I’ve got bills to pay that are late already. They turned my power off last night; I could see my breath by 11 pm. Plus there’s gon’ be more waste this mornin’ due to Christmas… Where the hell is he?”

“Let’s wait one more minute.” Matt says, enthusiasm in his voice. “He’ll show up.”

Bryan looks ahead at the edge of the sky that is still night and takes a drag of his cigarette.

“There’s a lesson y’all young men ought to learn.” Bryan’s voice rumbles. “Despite what you’d think from shows and movies and religion and such ways of sharin’ ideas, the world is cold. She gives no handouts, no miracles, no second chances. Nothin’.” Bryan laughs. “Well, she can. But only if the next move in her plot is to screw you. No, this world will give you a raw deal and laugh ‘bout it.”

Matt and Salvador are silent. Bryan itches the back of his neck and looks down. After a moment, he looks back up and smiles a stiff smile.

“Eli’s a good guy, though.” Bryan says, more calmly and with more force than the tone he’d used before. “Sure, let’s wait. He should show up.”

“Mornin’,” an easy, laid-back voice says some 10 minutes later.

A tall and skinny African American man walks with haste. He has tied-up dreadlocks, bags beneath his eyes, stained, dirty jeans, gloves, and boots, and a shining orange safety vest.

“Well, look who’s decided to show up!” Bryan shouts, “You’re 20 minutes late!”

“Yeah,” Eli says, “my daughter didn’t want to go to day-care this mornin’. Had to sit her down and talk to her. ‘Bout the friends she’ll make, the songs she’ll sing, the stories she’ll read. It was one of those mornings.’’ He shrugs. “And then I had to dry my own tears so I could show up to this job.”

“Daughter my ass.” Bryan’s voice rumbles. “You were probably busy smokin’ a blunt.”

Eli shrugs and breaks into a grin.

“Well, I’ll be honest with you, I did smoke a lil’ one back in the car.”

Matt laughs from where he sits on the truck’s steps. Salvador stands with his arms crossed and the same expression, as if he doesn’t understand what was said. Bryan laughs in earnest.

“Hey, as long as you can work it’s alright.” Bryan says, “If I wasn’t on parole I’d be right there with you, brother.”

Bryan crosses his arms. His smile becomes a frown. He sighs.

“Well, let’s get to work,” he says. “The landfill ain’t goin’ to fill herself.”

He treads up the truck’s stairs and takes a seat at the wheel. The men follow. Bryan turns the keys, the truck’s engine rumbles, he backs out, and he drives out of the lot.

The moon is lost behind clouds. Fog rests gray, brisk, and heavy; the truck’s headlights beams that just chisel through. Bryan turns the old, torn, stained black leather wheel and guides the truck off the highway ramp and into the town of San Carlos, California; a suburb of San Francisco. The men gaze drowsily out the windows as big, grand, stately homes pass one after another. Most of the houses still have Christmas decorations; a glowing white polar bear waves a paw; bright lights switch from red to white to green; silly, oversized ornaments hang on a Redwood tree; Santa Claus smiles with a bag of gifts on his shoulder. All of the house’s windows are still dark.

“San Carlos, the City of Good Living,” says Bryan as they pass the sign; his strong, gloved hands on the wheel. His glove has a long green stain; the palms are black. “Double story houses. A family town. The American Dream. We’re here to collect their waste…”

“We’ve got the graveyard shift.” Eli says. He puts a gloved hand to his mouth and yawns, “This place don’t run without us. We’d be surrounded by mountains of trash right now if we ain’t been getting paid our 13 dollars an hour…”

“Nope, not us!” Bryan laughs loudly. “So, how was y’all Christmas?” he asks, smiling a stiff smile.

“I spent the whole day with my daughter,” Eli says. “Me and my Baby Momma bought her a lil’ mansion for her dolls. The next move is to make em’ pay the rent. It’s expensive as hell out here.”

“Well that’s great.” Bryan says, his smile a bit too wide. He grabs a paper coffee cup from the dashboard, spins the coffee around, and takes a sip. “How’d she like it?”

“Loved it,” Eli says as he rubs a baggy, weary eye with the back of his glove. “She’s the reason I work 3 jobs, man.”

“Well, would you look at that!” Bryan shouts. He picks the coffee up again abruptly, swirls it around a little, then drinks. Then, as if to come to a decision, he places the cup firmly back on the dashboard. “How ‘bout you, Matt?” he says with a stiff smile.

“I went to Church.” Matt says softly, a cigarette glowing in his fingers. “The church in San Carlos, actually. The pastor did a great service. I could sure feel God’s presence. It was amazing, man. Then I went to my Grandpa’s and we had dinner on Christmas Day.”

“Been religious your whole life, Matt?” asks Bryan eagerly.

“No.” Matt looks down, shakes his head. “Definitely not, man. Every sober day is a day I thank God for.”

“You’re right. Sobriety is a new life.” Bryan says enthusiastically. “My relationship to God’s a different story, though.” He laughs loudly. “How ‘bout you, Salvador?”

Salvador sighs and looks out the window, his eyes wide.

“It was good. I had food in a diner,” he says after a moment. His head nods up and down as the truck hits a speed bump. “I called my family in Mexico. They were all together.”

Bryan smiles a stiff smile, leans over on his side, and pats Salvador heavily on the shoulder.

“Hey, it’s the little things, man,” Bryan says, “That sounds good.”

Bryan’s coffee spills a bit. He grabs the cup before it falls. Coffee spills onto his jeans. His brows furrow as he rubs his hand over the stain. Then, he takes another sip, smiling a stiff smile, eyes on the road ahead.

“Well, my Christmas was the most joyful and peaceful I’ve ever had,” Bryan says, his eyes hard. “I had a rotisserie chicken while I watched Home Alone on the couch at my new apartment. Didn’t finish it though, I fell asleep and I slept like a baby. Then I woke up and went to my Safeway job. I know it don’t sound like much, but, let me tell you, it’s better than spendin’ it in San Quentin.” Bryan laughs again. He itches the back of his neck. The men are silent.

Bryan pulls the truck over and parks. The men sit for a moment, gazing into the dark morning, minds slowly coming to terms with the day of physical labor before them.

Bryan sighs.

“Well, another day of work, y’all…” he says. Bryan stands, opens the door, trudges down the stairs, and walks with heavy steps towards a driveway.

In the quiet dawn twilight the truck roars. Headlights shine down a San Carlos street; an American flag waves in the breeze as it hangs on a porch adorned with Christmas lights; a 1965 Ford Mustang rests with the top down in an open garage for lack of fear of being stolen; a Tesla Model X charges; patio chairs stand around a fire pit on freshly-mowed grass.

Plastic wheels rumble on rough concrete as Matt drags a black San Mateo County trash can. He passes the can off to Bryan, who lifts it in his strong arms, fixes it on to the rear of the truck, hits a button, and there is a loud machine roar as the trash is lifted, turned upside-down, and dumped.

“I love the smell of shit in the mornin!” Bryan shouts over the roar, his breath gray. “Well, another present for the landfill…”

“Or is that old fish?” Matt says as he tries to keep the wheels of two trash cans straight. “Can’t tell.”

“Might be both.” Bryan shrugs. “Well, merry Christmas… Santa’s come, alright. We’ve got the real Christmas spirit now. It’s lookin’ like double the waste in a single shift. Extra boxes and extra Christmas trees for today, tomorrow and the whole of next month. Ain’t that just great.”

“Another day of work!” Matt smiles a stiff smile, panting. He leaves the trash cans beside Bryan. “Could be worse, man.”

Bryan lifts the trash, attaches it, and hits the button. He looks down, his arms crossed.

“Yeah, you’re right. It could be, man,” he says. “I’m in a sour mood.” Bryan sighs, “First they cut off my electricity ’cause I didn’t make rent in time. Had to sleep under three blankets with my breath visible, then I show up for this damn job and Eli’s 20 minutes late. Sometimes you wake up glad and ready to work, other days you just want to lay down on a couch and smoke a pack of cigarettes.”

“It’s all good, man.” Matt laughs as he goes up to another driveway. He wipes his forehead in a sleeve. “Well, at least we’re getting paid tonight.”

Bryan raises a trash can and attaches it.

“Yup, we’ll be gettin’ our pay.”

Bryan sighs again as he hits the button.

Dim yellow light flickers in the truck’s cabin. Eli rests an arm on the wheel, covers his mouth with a gloved fist, and yawns. He puts his hand down and rests his gaze on a bedewed front yard, grass illuminated in the truck’s headlights. In the seat beside him, shoulders slumped over, Salvador sits with a list of house addresses on a clipboard. He looks down and back up again, his eyes thoughtful and sad. He shakes a pen back and forth in his hand. Down and back up, down and back up, and down again…

“You’re lucky,” Eli says, smiling, “You got the easy job.”

Salvador gives a nod, his eyes down.

“Guess mine is easy right now, too,” Eli says. He sighs, “Compared to my other jobs. At least so far.”

Salvador nods again, adjusts his glasses.

“You smoke weed?” Eli asks.

“No, ” Salvador says. “My brothers do but I have never tried.”

“You look like you’d need some right ‘bout now,” Eli laughs.

The corner of Salvador’s lip curls, then he frowns again.

“Christmas time get you down?”

Salvador’s down-cast eyes search.

“I love weed, man,” Eli says, as he rubs an eye. “Helps me unwind, takes my mind off stress, helps me watch my daughter’s kids shows… I work 3 jobs, man.” Eli shrugs. “Figure I deserve it, man.”

Salvador looks down at the ground, eyes wide.

` Eli looks to the side at Salvador, an arm stretched out across the wheel.

“You got another job besides this, man?” he asks, smiling. ”You got people you’re providing for out here?”

“Yes. I’m searching for one.” He looks with his wide eyes down at the clipboard, shakes his pen. “I’m still looking.”

Eli nods, gazes ahead, and stretches a gloved hand out on the wheel.

“Work. It’s what makes you grown, man…”

Salvador smiles a stiff smile, his eyes down.

Birds sing. Street lights extinguish. The sky is all gray across, the sun now over the East Bay hills. Matt pants at the rear of the truck. Bryan stands with his arms crossed, a wistful look in his eyes. They watch as the truck does its work.

“Lots of boxes and wrapping paper this morning!” says Matt, wiping his forehead with a sleeve.

“Yeah, must have been great,” Bryan says. “Looks like they got some kind of video game… Nintendo… I remember that from when I -,” he looks up at Matt, “from back when I was a kid.”

“That’s a Nintendo Switch,” Matt says excitedly. “It came out a few years back. You know, I used to collect old gaming systems. Which one did you have?”

“Can’t remember, man. It was a long time ago.” Bryan looks downcast. “Well, what do we got here?”

Bryan steps across the sidewalk and stands before a small, blue, yellow, and green painted house made of wood. Christmas lights are strewn around it. A sign on the house says Little Free Lending Library. Behind a little glass door stand two shelves of books.

“This looks interesting,” Matt says. He pulls a book out in his glove. “Grapes of Wrath. You think there’s a movie?”

“No idea.” Bryan says. “Folks read books in prison, it was one of the only things you could do. Passes the time, makes you think you’re outside and what-not. Never worked for me.”

“I haven’t read a book since high school, to be honest.” Matt says. “I’m not too well-read. The Bible is an exception, though. I can’t get enough of it. I’ve read it three times already.”

“Yeah..,.” says Bryan. His eyes search. “I’d rather live real life. What got me through it was to just work out and think ‘bout my next meal. At chow I’d only focus on the food I’m eatin’. All I gotta do is get to the next meal, man. I still do it. Gets you through the day. ”

“Yeah, man,” Matt says, “So you’ve never read the Bible?”

“Nope.” Bryan gazes down, “Tried it once, didn’t speak to me. But if it works for you then go ahead…”

“Okay, sure.” Matt nods good naturedly, “Maybe I’ll change your mind one of these days.” He walks to the next driveway.

Bryan stands with his arms crossed, his eyes down, and lets out a deep sigh.

Matt drags new trash towards the truck. Behind a window with curtains, a teenage voice shouts, “I didn’t want a hundred new shirts! I wanted an Iphone! All my friends have one! Even Amanda! You don’t even care about what I look like to my friends!”

Her mother’s placating voice is far-off, muffled and can’t be distinguished.

“Well, if I was a kid growin’ up in a place like this I’d be grateful,” Bryan says, his eyes hard, “I’d study in school, I’d play a sport, I’d get up early and cook breakfast in the mornin’ for the family. Ain’t no way to go back in time, though.”

“God gives second chances.” Matt says. “You can always reach out to Him, you know.”

Bryan shrugs.

“Maybe he does for some folk.”

They climb on to the back of the truck. Bryan slams his fist on the truck’s side.

“Eli, we’re runnin’ late! Let’s go!”

More of the town awakes; lights turn on, a woman jogs, parents and kids in holiday pajamas walk dogs, and there is the smell of breakfast: pancakes, coffee, French toast, eggs and bacon, being served behind windows.

Matt pants as he struggles with a Christmas tree, his arms stretched to keep the branches from scratching his face. One end of the tree is in the air, the other drags on the street. His steps are heavy plods under the tree’s weight.

Bryan’s brows furrow.

“So, which drug was it?” he asks, “Why are you so skinny, man?”

“Heroin,” Matt pants. “I’m about to reach six months of sobriety.”

“Well, that’s great.” Bryan smiles a stiff smile. “That’s hard to pull off, man. It takes daily work. It takes focus. Takes perseverance. Trust me, I’ve been there.”

Matt tries to lift the tree up to the truck. His body shakes as he tries, but it falls to the street, too heavy for him.

“Here, let me handle it.” Bryan squats, picks up the tree, tosses it away in the rear of the truck, wipes his forehead with a sleeve, and hits the button.

“It was meth for me.” Bryan’s voice rumbles over the truck’s roar, “I’m from Georgia. I had a good life there, too. We were far from well off, but still, I had a family, I had friends I’d go fishin’ with, I had a girl, I went to prom…,” the edge of his lip curls, then frowns. “But when I was 17 my pops’ passed away. He meant the world to me. He helped out a lot of folks.”

Bryan sighs, shrugs.

“Well, as the creek flows, pain grows into anger…”

Bryan shakes his head, his eyes down. “I went down the wrong path, man… I was lookin’ for pops in the worst of people…”

Bryan pulls on the sleeve of his arm and smooths it.

“Well, ‘bout two years later I came out here to California on the run. My sole possessions were a backpack filled with t-shirts and a ziplock bag of meth: half for me and half for sellin’ to support my habit. I ended up strollin’ into a bank with a huntin’ rifle, like those old cartoons on Saturday mornin’ TV. In my daze I didn’t even make it to the bank teller either. I went up to the support desk. Reckoned I’d make a fortune, buy a big house and smoke meth forever. Well, the SWAT team came out for me, and they locked me up in San Quentin. Attempted armed robbery, they said. From that day on I began my life as a felon. Had to go through withdrawals and reach sobriety alone in a cell. And it’s true and just, I did it. I committed a serious offense. Well, none of my family, friends or anyone I knew ever spoke to me. Even those new friends of mine. No, all those stupid, sorry bastards were good for was gettin’ me-”

Bryan looks up, his eyes wide.

“You ever been locked up, man?”

These words leave his lips in a rapid, pleading jumble.

“Thanks for telling me that.” Matt says, “I have. I caught a shoplifting charge and a possession of a controlled substance.”

“When I first got out on house arrest my mom would nearly force me to pray. I was reluctant, I didn’t believe in the Bible one bit. I did it, though, just to get her off my back. As soon as I got off of house arrest I left the house, left my mom in tears pleading for me to stay. I took a train back up to the city, bought a dimebag, and shot up. Well, I had an overdose. In that state, half conscious, I came back to prayer. I prayed to God that he take my life. Not to save my life, but to take it. I wanted to die. I felt miserable, felt alone, felt like a burden on my family…” Matt’s eyes are downcast; he smiles. “But, I woke up. A miracle happened. A nurse administered Narcan. ”

Matt smiles a stiff smile, shakes his head at the ground.

“Well, I kept praying. While I was at a Christian rehab center they had us pray every morning, every night, and over every meal. Over time I realized how much joy prayer gave me. I devoted myself. I never missed a call to prayer. When my grandpa and my mom and my family visited they said they could see a change in me. They said I smiled more, that I was more calm, that I even had more color to me.” Matt smiles the same stiff smile, “God does miracles and I’m sure it was he who did one on me. I’m sure of it. Well, I decided to change in earnest. That was an entire 6 months ago, man. Half a year! Now I’m clean, I go to Church every Sunday, I pray every day, and I have a good job! I changed my life, and it’s all thanks to Jesus Christ!”

Bryan attaches a trash can and hits the button. He crosses his arms, his eyes hard, searching.

“Yeah, that’s good for you,” Bryan says. “Jesus has never spoken to me. There ain’t no heaven I ever seen beyond those clouds. I tend to think people who believe in religion don’t see life for what it is. I feel the same pain as if I spent the whole day prayin’…”

“Well, God is always there, man.” Matt smiles a stiff smile, “You can always reach out to him. Always believe a miracle is coming. Those are words I live by.”

“Yeah, sure. I won’t deny your beliefs. Good people still die young, though.” Bryan says, “There are more sufferin’ people than happy people. As I said this mornin’, it’s a cold world. You know, I’d moreso believe in a Satan then I would in…”

“HI!” a little voice shouts. Bryan and Matt look around: a smiling little boy walks with his mother. He wears a blue sweatshirt with Yellow Oaks Elementary School, San Carlos written on it. He waves the paw of a gray stuffed rabbit.

Bryan straightens himself up, breaks into a wide smile, and raises a hand to wave.

“Hey! How’s it goin’?” he says in a soft voice, more calmly. “Do you want to help us toss trash? We’ve got one here ready for ya’.”

“Sorry,” The boy’s mother says. The woman’s tone is nice, but her eyes betray meanness. She looks down at the boy, smiles a stiff smile, and pulls on his hand. “Come on, honey, these garbage men are hard at work.”

“Okay, bye!” the boy smiles. “See you next week! Thank you!”

Bryan raises a hand and waves with his face in a stiff smile.

The boy digresses on another subject as he and his mother walk away down the sidewalk.

Bryan watches them go.

“Infectin’ their minds,” he says after a moment.

“What do you mean?” Matt asks.

“Look around: this is a good, honest, family town. It’s the American Dream. The kind of town to raise kids in. The folk here are good folk. They’re rich, happy, successful, all of it…” Bryan sighs, “We take out their waste. We’re the ones that they pray their kids to never grow up to be. We’re the caution, we’re the threat, we’re the warnin’: “if you don’t scrub the dishes, if you don’t do your homework, if you don’t be nice to your brother, you’ll be just like them… I don’t blame ’em. If I had a kid I’d want them to do somethin’ else too.”’

“Well, I did the dishes every night,” Matt says. “I’m from San Carlos. Am I one of those people?”

Bryan straightens up, his eyes search. His lips turn to the same stiff smile as he looks fondly at Matt. “Yeah, you know, you’ve got a point.” Bryan says, “You’re a good guy, Matt. You know that? You’re well off for your age, much more than I was…”

“Thank you. That means a lot. Jesus gave me all I have.”

“Whatever it is, it’s good.” Bryan says with more power now. “Keep it going, man.”

Matt smiles a stiff smile, looks down, wipes his forehead with a sleeve. He treads up to another driveway.

The sky lightens from ash to white as the sun shines on the clouds. The sanitation workers are done collecting waste for the area. Now it’s time to drive to their next service zone. A gloved hand on the rail, Bryan trudges slowly up each step of the truck. He pants, his shoulders slump, and sweat drips down his forehead. As he reaches the cabin, he discovers Eli in the driver’s seat: his legs spread, arms crossed, eyes shut, and mouth apape.

Bryan’s face flushes red.

“HEY! ELI! WAKE UP!”

Eli opens his eyes and looks around with a start. He sees where he is, exhales, and leans back.

“Don’t you smell good.” he says, rubbing an eye. “You done?”

“Come on, man. You can’t be sleepin’ on the job. Especially on a day like this.” Bryan’s voice rumbles. He takes off each of his gloves, and brushes a hand over his face. “You’ll smell the same soon enough, because you and me gon’ switch this next service area.”

“Why switch, man?” Eli says. “Why can’t we stay how we are?”

“Well,” Bryan’s eyes flash, “the main reason is we’ve been draggin’ trash all mornin’ and we have to rest. It takes effort to handle so much trash. There’s double the load this mornin’, too. We’ve got Christmas trees now.”

Eli sighs and rubs a hand over his forehead.

“It takes work to drive the truck, too.” Eli says. “I’ve got to save energy, man. I’ve got another shift right after this one.”

Bryan slams a fist on the dashboard. The metal reverberates loudly.

“Come on! That’s your goddamn problem! You’re too damn lazy, Eli! You always put the hard work onto the other man!” A vein bulges on Bryan’s neck. His voice grows high. “All you do is smoke weed! You don’t care about shit! We’ve been workin’ hard all morning! Look at how hard Matt is working, new and weak and sobriety and all! I should smack you across the fuckin’ face! Stop fuckin’ around and be a man!”

Eli looks Bryan in the eye with a glare that does not waver.

“I got a daughter and 3 jobs,” Eli says after a silent moment, “I am a man.”

“Well, I ain’t doing another house ‘till we switch! I have to rest, and you have to do your damn job!” Bryan glares. “I’ll stand here until sundown and none of us will go home if that’s what it comes to!”

The men are silent. A car passes. Eli looks into Bryan’s eyes for a moment. Finally, he sighs. “Sure.”

Eli stands, stretches his arms languidly, and walks down the stairs.

Bryan sticks his flushed face out the window, “Matt, you want to switch with Salvador while we’re at it?!”

“I’m good,” Matt says warily. “I can drag some more trash. ”

“Alright.”

Bryan sinks back in the driver’s seat and sighs. After a moment he hunches over on his elbows and rests his head in his palms. His eyes betray worry. He bangs a fist on the dashboard, itches the back of his neck, then looks up at Salvador.

“It’s like a fight with your brother at your momma’s house,” he says with a stiff smile, “You gotta love it. You’ve got a big family, right, man?”

“Yes,” Salvador says as he looks out the window with wide eyes. “I do…”

The fog is marble with gray contours now. For a moment the clouds break and the sun appears and shines but then it is buried again. The truck rests by an elementary school. An ad for a fundraiser waves in the breeze on a chain-link fence, filled in with 75 percent of its goal for the year. Beyond the fence a man raises his daughter on his shoulders; the daughter throws a basketball, and the ball makes it into a hoop.

“I made it!” she shouts, smiling. “Nothin’ but net!”

“You made it!” the father smiles, his hands on her calves. “All on your own! With your basketball that you got from Santa! Good job, baby.”

“When I play basketball at school I’m going to beat all the boys there!”

“I’m sure you will,” the father smiles.

The man and his daughter turn to see Matt dragging two trash cans. “Hi!” The girl waves at them.

“Thank you!” the father shouts.

Matt gives a stiff smile “No problem! Happy to help!”

Sweat shines on his forehead. He pants. His armpits and back are drenched in sweat.

“So how’s the mall cop gig?” He asks Eli, smiling. “Been busy over the holidays?”

Eli gives a shrug as he pulls another trash can. The sun comes out for a moment and shines.

“It’s another hustle, man,” he shouts over the rumble. “There has to be some way to pay these bills. It’s way too expensive to live out here, even East Oakland. But when a man’s got a daughter, he’s got to do whatever he can to provide for her, you know what I mean?”

“That’s amazing. Good for you, man.” Matt smiles a stiff smile.

Eli stands by the truck, wipes sweat from his forehead, and his lips curl as if to laugh. But then he looks Matt over. His eyes take in his pale skin, his cheekbones, his shirt and jeans that hang heavy on him, and his smile softens.

“You know you’re a good dude, right?” Eli says, “Always smilin’, helpin’ people, workin’ hard. I wasn’t like that at all when I first started workin’ here. But, you gotta do what you gotta do when you have a child.``

“Thanks, man. Some days it’s easier and other days it’s harder,” Matt says. His eyes search, he looks up and smiles, “Is there a story behind that?”

“There is, man.” Eli says, “There’s a story I’ll be tellin’ till my dyin’ day.”

“Tell me it, man.” Matt says. “You sound inspired.”

“Sure.” Eli smiles a stiff smile, “I think it’ll inspire you too, man. Well, I’ll start out by sayin’ my life was different before I was ridin’ in a waste truck. I had less responsibility; I smoked more weed, drank more, laughed more, slept in ‘till whenever I wanted… I was a skateboarder, man. A good one, too. I was one of the best in San Francisco, if not the Bay Area.” He looks down, his lip curls, “I was on the path to goin’ pro, man. I was on flow, which means a skateboarding company is interested in you, for Grizzly Dog Skateboards. It was way better than this job. I was livin’ for the moment, carefree, and all I knew was that I’d skate with friends every day. But then I got a call from my baby momma; she told me she was pregnant…”

Eli frowns, shakes his head at the ground.

“At first I got angry. I argued that it was someone else’s child, that she wanted me for my money, that she was screwin’ me over, all the good stuff. Those were dark times, man. You could even call me abusive. My pops was never in my life, his pops’ wasn’t either, and I was set to repeat that pattern. But the day my daughter was born my life was flipped right upside down. Aaliyah cried and cried, but when I picked her up and held her for the first time she just looked at me with her little eyes with her long little lashes, and smiled. From that smile on, I knew I had to be in her life. But, you know, havin’ a child takes responsibility, takes commitment, it takes time, energy, and money. I tried to balance skating and being a father at first, but I soon found out that I had too little time and energy to skate anymore. I had to get a job and provide for my child. So, I went out and did that. I got the job I told you ‘bout at the skate shop. But, come to find out, there ain’t no way to live in the Bay workin’ one job without a high school degree, so I had to get two more. It’s a struggle, man. I’m tired even after I sleep, my legs ache from standin’, people don’t get what I go through every day… There are times where I miss the days I could sleep in ‘till 3 pm and skate all day. But, I’m telling you, man: the smile on my daughter’s face when I’m tuckin’ her in at night makes me forget all that bullshit. Despite the negative sides, I’d rather have this. To know I give my daughter a good life, to know I’m makin’ her safe, and that I’m tryin’ to teach her to be better than I was, to have a day like last Christmas…” Eli smiles a stiff smile at the ground. “It’s the reason I do it, man.”

“That’s a big sacrifice, man,” Matt says, “I don’t know if I could do that if it was up to me. I thank Christ for such decisions.”

He goes to the next driveway, his shoulders slumped, eyes downcast, panting. He wipes his forehead with a sleeve.

Eli’s downcast eyes search.

“You know, you might be right, man. If after all I’ve seen, after all I’ve done…” he shakes his head at the ground and smiles. “If an angel like my daughter was born to be mine, there has to be somethin’ out there…”

He gazes up at the clouds.

The fog is gray.

Behind a freshly-painted white fence, a yard of clean-cut grass and bright flowers of all colors stand in the gray light of the morning. An advertisement for professional landscaping stands in the grass. A saw roars, a hammer thunders, Mexican music plays resonant over the construction. Tan wooden decking boards stand to build the foundation of a three-story house. A man in a blue suit and a pregnant woman in a yellow sundress stand in the front yard, smile and speak in eager voices.

“So why’re you so quiet, man?” Bryan asks Salvador with a stiff smile, as they sit in the truck’s cabin.

Arms crossed, eyes down, Salvador says, “It’s nothing,” quietly.

“Hey man, we’ve all got a nothing that haunts us,” Bryan says, “I’ve got a whole lot of nothing on my mind today… ”

Salvador nods.

“This would be nice.” Bryan smirks at the house being built. “You live in a house with other guys out here? Or are you on your own?”

“I’m in an apartment alone.” Salvador sighs.

“Hey, me too.” Bryan shrugs. “Guess it could be worse.”

Salvador nods.

Bryan reaches into his pocket and takes out his cigarettes.

“Don’t let us pressure you into smokin’, neither,” Bryan says. He lights his cigarette, blows smoke. “It’s a bad habit.”

Salvador nods again, eyes on his boots.

“You sure you’re alright, man?” Bryan asks, his brows furrowed. “Something’s troublin’ you.”

Salvador opens his mouth, gazes up at Bryan, closes his mouth, then looks back down.

“You runnin’ late on rent?”

Salvador’s eyes search. He shakes his head.

“My family, in Mexico…,” he says after a moment, “the rest of my family is there. It’s only me here. I came to the USA to make money to send to them. But it’s not as easy as they say it is in Mexico. I wish I could help them more, but I can almost support myself. But, it’s not only the money. It is so much pain to be without them on Christmas. Alone in a new country. My family can’t come here. They would have to be afraid of police and ICE. It’s only me here. I’m here alone.”

“Hey, we’ve all been alone, man.” Bryan says. “I haven’t talked to any of my family in 15 years. When I was in prison I realized, oddly feelin’ lonely is a feelin’ every human being shares.”

Salvador sighs.

“I have nobody here,” he says, “No family, no friends. I left them. I left them to be alone.”

Bryan’s eyes grow soft. He puts his hand on Salvador’s shoulder.

“Listen, you didn’t, Salvador. You did a good thing, to come to this country in search of work. You’re a good, honest man. You made a decision only a strong person could make. I bet your folks are proud of you. I bet you’re a real hero to them.”

“Yes, but how could I know?” Salvador says quietly, “I don’t even have the money to call them. In the USA I work, go to sleep, then I work again. That is every day. Even after all my work, I can barely afford to pay for a small apartment in the Bay Area in the ghetto, where I live on my own.”

Salvador gazes out the window. Across the street a child throws a ball to a golden labrador retriever in a clean-cut grass yard with a fence. A mother in a robe watches from the porch with a steaming cup of tea in her hands.

“There are two dogs that always come by my mother’s house in Mexico.” Salvador says, his eyes watery. ”Every morning I would play with the dogs, like this boy. I got a branch and I would throw it and they would run and bark and play. They would lick my face when I brought them leftover food. Here I live in an apartment: no pets.”

“You could get past that, man,” Bryan says, “Speak to your landlord. I knew a guy who had a pet pigeon in his prison cell. If he could do that you could, too.”

“But how would I buy one?” Salvador waves his arms. “I’m not even a citizen! It is a cruel system! The whole system!”

“Yeah, well,” Bryan’s voice rumbles, “I’d tell you to keep your head up, man. But the system ain’t been too kind to me either…”

He looks down for a moment, his eyes worried, then back up at Salvador.

“Hey, Salvador, you’ll get through this. You’re a hard worker, you’re an honest man, you think ‘bout others. Even though it’s hard to believe where you’re at right now, your struggle makes you strong. The more you suffer the stronger you become. Trust me, I know the subject well. You’ll make your money and you’ll send it to your family in Mexico. They’ll be grateful. They’ll be proud. Everything will be alright, man.”

Salvador nods, turns his head, and looks back out the window. Bryan looks ahead and smooths his hair back. Matt pants as he drags two black trash cans, his shoulders slumped over, his steps heavy.

Clouds part to reveal a warm, golden sun. A wind picks up, carrying more clouds from the ocean, and the sun is lost. Then the clouds part in another place and the sun shines again. A group of women in jeans and blouses sit at a cafe in eager, breathless conversation; red chain-cafe coffee cups in hand. Two kids ride their new scooters down the sidewalk. A pair of gray-haired men smile, play guitar and sing to a group of admirers.

In the parking lot of the shops of Laurel Street, Matt kneels over, hands on his knees, and pants. Eli lifts a trash can in his arms, attaches it to the truck, and hits the button. There is black grime on the stomach of his shirt.

“That was a good idea us all gettin’ out,” Bryan says, panting, as he drags a trash can. His neck is drenched in sweat. “We’re almost done for the day.”

Salvador flips the page on his checklist and crosses an address off.

“I’m going to smoke good today.” Eli says, “I’ve got one more job first.”

“Another day of work.” Matt smiles a stiff smile as he looks up, his hands on his knees. “It feels good to have discipline, man.”

“True,” Eli says as he tosses a trash bag up into the truck. “Makes you feel proud of what you do,”

Bryan’s phone rings.

“It’s the boss, y’all.” Bryan puts the phone to his ear, “Hey! We’re almost done.”

Bryans brows furrow, his breath heavy.

“Can’t somebody else get it?” he asks, surprised. He takes a deep breath. “It’s because we’ve got extra trash already today, due to Christmas.”

Bryan sighs, “Okay.”

He nods.

“Sure. We’ll get it.”

He nods, his eyes downcast.

“Yes sir. No problem.”

He ends the call and looks up.

“Two people from group 6 called out sick. Manager said we’ve got another three service areas to do today, ” Bryan says. ‘Probably havin’ Christmas with their families…”

“That’s ridiculous!” Eli says. “I’ve got another job, man! I’ve got to pick up my daughter from day-care in Oakland in three hours.”

“That’s twice the regular service areas. Plus, we’ve got Christmas trees,” Matt says. He wipes his forehead with a sleeve. “I’m tired. We’ve been handling cans for three hours, man.”

Bryan takes a deep breath.

“Well, if the manager called we’ve got to get it done.” Bryan says, his eyes downcast. “I’m sorry, y’all, that’s how it works.”

“Well, at least we are getting our pay.” Salvador says in a quiet tone, “We’ll have made extra.”

“Yeah, but extra of what to start with, man…,” Eli says. “It doesn’t make no difference.”

“Well, let’s get it done,” Bryan says, “I know we were all expectin’ to be finished soon. I’m as for that as y’all are. But, the bottom line is that the faster we get it done the faster we can all go home.”

Bryan sighs, looks up and gazes down the street, his arms crossed. The rest of the men do the same. Shops and buildings line each side of the street, neighbors talk over coffee, a family walks their dog, and in front of every shop as far as one can see stand full, black San Mateo County trash cans.

The truck is parked on a high, woody hill. Houses here are even more grand, with expensive modern architecture, big backyards in forests of pine trees, some have tennis and basketball courts, and each of the houses have views. From these hills you can see all of San Carlos, which sprawls toward the dark blue of the Bay, the cities of Hayward and Oakland on the other side, the green winter East Bay Hills, and to the north are the skyscrapers of San Francisco, but they are buried in the fog now. The sun comes out and shines, golden light shimmers in windows of cars and houses of the valley; then the sun is lost behind clouds again.

Eli pants and his shirt is drenched in sweat around his neck, his back, and his armpits. A green stain drips down his vest. He gazes over the view. “There’s Aaliyah,” he says under his breath as he smiles.

Wheels rumble as Matt drags two trash cans with haste towards the truck. As he sees Eli taking a rest, Matt tries to lift the trash can himself. His arms shake as he tries to pick it up. There is a hollow boom. Trash spills all over the sidewalk. The trash can has fallen. He takes a deep breath, then kneels and begins to gather it in the can with his gloved hands. Eli kneels and helps him.

Two men, in khakis, boat shoes, and sweaters pass them on the sidewalk. Eli looks up. The men look down, away and walk on.

“Well, there’s a task Daniel will be spared from,” one of the men says in a hushed tone. The men grin at each other.

“Any man who has graduated from high school would be spared from that.”

“Well, maybe a UC Santa Cruz graduate wouldn’t be,” one of them says,

“Yeah, or someone with a degree from UC Santa Barbara,” the man laughs. “That’s a difficult job to get. You need experience.”

Eli and Matt watch the men go.

“Do they think we didn’t hear them?” Matt says.

“I heard ‘em’ alright,” Eli says.

“Do you know how hard it is to finish college?” Matt asks. “How hard it is to get a job with a degree in this country?”

“Well, if I had the time and money to go to college, not even the best ones, I’d go. If I did that, I’d go and get a job that pays more than 13 dollars an hour…” Eli shrugs. “I’d work hard. I know I could do that. I’d take the same care, focus and energy as I do here; just on a computer codin’ or somethin’. We’d live in San Carlos, my daughter would go to a good school, and she’d have all the toys she wants…”

“It’s a scam, dude’” Matt says. “Trust me. For most people it’s four years of memorizing worthless facts for a shitty office job and the rest of your life in debt.”

“Well, they’ve got the degree. Somehow they live in San Carlos. They’ve got the Teslas. They got the successful kids, everything. I’ve got 3 jobs, a daughter and I’m living in East Oakland…”

“God works in mysterious ways…,” Matt says, eyes on the concrete.

He wipes the sweat on his forehead with his arm, sits down on the curb, and hugs his knees.

“Sometimes I don’t see it though, man…” Matt says as he pants, his eyes down. “It doesn’t seem fair…”

The clouds float to the east and evanesce as the sun shines. Blue sky is all that remains. There are more people about now; in Porsches, Teslas, and SUVs, on the way to a job, a cafe, or the gym, yawning and turning up the radio…

The garbage truck rumbles in the hot parking lot of a church. The church stands on a crest of a hill that overlooks San Carlos, and larger green hills spotted with homes rise from behind. Two palm trees stand in front of the black church. The tall black cross on the roof of the church drowns in the morning sun. A pigeon sits on the cross and stretches its wings.

Bryan crushes a water bottle in his hand as he drinks. Eli tosses a bag in the rear of the truck, sweat dripping down the front, the back, the armpits of his shirt, and a fresh, wet white stain runs down the leg of his jeans. Salvador pulls a loud trash can with both hands and walks backwards. Matt drags trash from the far side of the lot.

A man and a woman emerge from the brown wooden rear doors of the church. They are both dressed professionally, in buttoned up shirts and slacks. They have serious expressions, their arms crossed, and they speak in hushed tones. The man’s face flushes red.

“I wouldn’t be the one giving attitude here,” the woman cocks her eyes as she speaks loudly.

“Oh, sure, I’m the one who’s wrong,” the man says, his chin out and eyes hard. “You know I did nothing bad and now you go and make up lies to the pastor.” He shakes the car keys in his hand. “I wonder why…”

“Oh, yeah?! ” The woman shouts, “You gave that slut from your job a lot of honesty then! Yup, you were the one who lived true by God’s word. I’m so sorry.”

“Hey! Ethan and Mia! ” Matt shouts, with a confused smile, as he drags a can. “How are you?”

The man’s gaze is frantic as he looks around him. His eyes meet Matt’s for a second. His face pales.

“Be quiet.” the man says in a hushed tone to the woman, “You’ll wake every-”

““-sure I’ll wake them! I’ll wake the whole San Carlos! Everyone ought to know that you’re a cheater, Walter! A liar and a cheater! Where were you on Christmas night?!”

“I don’t see how that can b-”

“Where were you, Walter?!”

The man’s face flushes red.

Is this how you want to raise our kids?! To fight all the damn time?! So what if I went out for one drink with a woman while you were raising our kids on bullshit! A woman I knew from work of all places?! I’m the one with the job.” He gestures to a Tesla model X that stands in the parking lot, “You have me to thank for this! If you keep shouting all the time you’ll raise our kids to be degenerates! They’ll be going to therapy because of you! They’ll grow up to be drug addicts, McDonald’s workers, damn garbage men! This is why it isn’t working out between us, Mary. You’re a bossy, pretentious bitch!”

At this moment, Salvador trips over a shoelace and falls to the ground of the parking lot. His glasses fall beside him and crack. Eli walks to his side with haste and gives him a hand. The arguing man looks at them and a vein pops out on his neck:

“What the fuck are you lying around for?! Get to work! Take out my damn trash! You know how much I make a year?! I could talk to your manager and get you fired as easy as that! I see you Mexicans and Blacks here every week! In San Carlos, of all towns!”

“Ethan, man, calm down,” Matt tries.

“You’re nothing but some fuckups, you understand that?!” the man goes on, shouting down at Eli and Salvador on the cement. “Poor, stupid, uneducated fuckups! You dirty from taking out the trash all day?! I have an MBA, do you even have your GED?!”

Salvador says, “Pendejo,” under his breath, looks to Eli from the ground, anxious. Matt pales. Eli glares with wide eyes.

“Well, do you even speak English?!” the man shouts. “Do you know that we’re in an English speaking country?”

The truck door slams. They look up. Bryan walks down the steps. His steps are slow and controlled; he breathes heavily. He has his hands on his belt. His face is red.

“Sir, I’d calm down if I were you,” Bryan says calmly as he approaches, his eyes hard. He stands in front of the woman, whose eyes are teary, and crosses his arms.

“And who are you to tell me to calm down?!” the man shouts. “Like I said, I can give one call to your manager and you’ll have to look for a new minimum wage job tonight!”

“Sure. Go ahead,” Bryan says with more power now. His chest rises and falls faster. “So you went and got your MBA, right?”

The man smiles, arches his head up to look Bryan in the eye.

“I did, and where did you graduate from?”

“If you’ve got to know, I did 15 years in San Quentin. It might come as a surprise to know I’ve graduated from high school, too.” Bryan says, his face firm.

“Well, congratulations,” the man says. “That’s some accomplishment.”

Bryan maintains his glare. “I might not have a degree from any college,” Bryan says, breathing fast, “or a Tesla Model X, or a wife or family, but, I’ll go as far as to say I’m more educated than you are. In fact, all the rest of us are, too. Yup, we’ve all done our homework. If you can’t bother with respect for your woman, the mother of your children, from what I overheard, or somebody from a different culture, or a man with a different skin color than ya’, with your Tesla model X, in this town, at a Church of all places, you might be more of an idiot than all the rest of us put together,” Bryan says. His lips grow to a stiff smile. “And, as is in life, the fool is often screwed over by the very thoughts he thinks.”

Fear is in the man’s eyes. Bryan stands about a foot over the arguing man, so he has to arch his head up to look at him.

“Yup. You heard that right,” Bryan says calmly, face flushed red. ”You’re lucky I ain’t askin’ for your name, because I’d be glad to speak with your manager. My suggestion is you go along. We’ll act like this ain’t never happened.”

The man looks into Bryan’s eyes, turns around, spits, gets in the Tesla, shuts the door, and drives off. Sniffling, the woman drys a tear with her hand and opens the rear door of an SUV parked beside the Tesla. She grabs three red gift-wrapping wrapped presents, walks towards the dumpster, and tosses them.

“Thank you.” she says to Bryan in a soft tone. “Throw these away with the rest of the trash.”

“No problem.” Bryan says, his eyes searching on the ground.

She gets in the SUV, shuts the door, and drives off.

“That guy was somethin’ else, man,” Eli says, shaking his head. “He was messed up in the head.”

“He was, man. He was always so nice at church. They’d stick around with their kids and talk to everyone after the service,” says Matt, his arms crossed. He leans on the truck, his eyes thoughtful. He looks up with a stiff smile. “You alright, Salvador?”

“Yes, I’m okay,” Salvador says, his eyes wide. “Bryan, thank you.”

Eli looks at Bryan fondly, “Yeah, thanks man.”

“You told him off in a way he’ll remember, man,” Matt says, “I could never do that…”

Bryan looks at the ground, his eyes pensive. “Well, let’s get back to work, y’all.” He lets out a sigh, “We’ve got a lot more to get done…”

Salvador drags a trash can that rumbles on the rough concrete. As he reaches the truck, Eli squats and grabs hold. As he tries to attach it to the truck, the trash can falls backwards, crashes on the ground, and two black bags fall out.

“It’s nothin’,” Bryan says, smiling a stiff smile, “I got it.”

He tosses a bag in the rear of the truck. Then he spins the other up and down by the ties as he laughs. “It’s like lassoin’ a cow. He laughs, “except we ain’t in Georgia.”

“Have you done that in real life?” Matt asks, smiling a stiff smile. He wipes his forehead in a dirty sleeve.

“Sure.” Bryan says, a bead of sweat trickling down the side of his neck, “did it all the time.”

As he spins the bag around the bag rips, and some metal shines in the sun.

“Fuck!” Bryan says. He holds his arm and hides it away.

“Here, man. You’re cut. Let me see it,” Eli says. He reaches for Bryan’s arm.

Bryan pulls back his arm in a fast reflex and covers it with his hand.

“No, it’s fine,” he says, his voice high. “Really, it’s all okay.”

“Come on, man. You got blood drippin’ on the ground. You’re hurt.”

“It’s nothin’!” his voice grows even higher. Bryan looks between the men with wide eyes. “Get back to work, y’all. I’ll go and wrap it with the first aid kit.”

“You’re trippin’, man.” Eli says. “At least show us your cut. We can help you out with the bandage.”

“I got it! It’s nothin’!”

Bryan walks up the steps to the truck’s cabin, he holds his arm as if his arms are crossed. But his foot misses a step, and he falls on his back to the cement.

He lay on his back. His sleeve is cut, blood flows from it and drenches his sleeve. Beside the cut, unharmed, is a tattoo of a black swastika.

The men stand in silence. Bryan looks up at them. His eyes wide with panic.

“Listen, y’all…”

Eli glares, as does Salvador. Matt pales as he stares with wide eyes.

“What the hell is that for?” Eli asks.

Bryan looks up, opens his mouth, and closes it.

“Is that how you spend your weekends?!” Eli shouts. “Are you a fuckin’ KKK member?! Did you want to tie a rope around my neck this whole time?!”

Bryan looks at the tattoo on his arm, back up at the men; he hesitates, then speaks:

“Look, I got this back in the South, before I went to prison.” His chest rises and falls faster. His eyes search. “I was abhorrent. I burned books, crosses, I owned guns, I was a racist, all you’d expect in a person with this tattoo. Now every night I wake up at 3am, my heart beatin’ a million miles a minute, with cold sweat, and I’m pukin’. I ruined my life. I did it myself. That’s the God’s honest truth, if there ever was one.” His eyes water as they flash at the cement. “I’m not that person anymore. I promise y’all. When I got out of prison I decided I’d live with honesty. I’d live with kindness. I’d help anybody. When I got out I told myself I’d change. I’d get a job and I’d live a good, modest life every day until it’s all done.” He shakes his head. “Look, I promise ya’, this tattoo is on my livin’, breathin’ skin, but it’s from a past life.”

Matt looks Bryan over with thoughtfulness. Salvador looks with wide eyes at Bryan’s arm through his cracked glasses. Eli stares at Bryan, his eyes wide. A car passes. A breeze rustles the bags on the ground.

After a moment, Eli reaches a hand out.

Bryan takes it, and stands.

Eli looks Bryan over. The edge of his lip curls.

“You know, I ain’t got a good n’ right past either.” Eli says, “You’re not a bad guy, man. I know people who’ve never been to prison who are much worse people than you are. You treat people with respect. You stood up for all of us back there. You’re alright, man. You can admit your mistakes. The real assholes are the ones who can’t.”

“Thanks. That means a lot,” Bryan says, his eyes down, a bit of encouragement in his voice. “I refuse to hate any human being; Black, White, Latino, Asian, Indian, they’re all good, honest folks.”

“And each one has demons, yet each is a child of God.” Matt says. “As you are, man. Don’t worry. We’ve gotten to know you. You’re a great guy.”

“Yeah…,” Bryan says. He looks down at the concrete. His lip curls and begins to tremble as he smiles. He looks back up at the men. He holds his arm where the wound is. “Look, y’all have your whole lives ahead of ya’. Y’all have a clean slate. I have to live with myself. I have to live with my past. I have to live with my decisions. I’m an ex-con. I’m a sanitation worker. Y’all heard how educated I am. This is what I’ll be doing for the rest of my life.”

Bryan’s watery eyes gleam in the sunlight.

“Y’all young men will have a much brighter future than I do. Make the most of it. Y’all can still change. Y’all can go on to work in an office one day. You can have a family and kids in San Carlos.”

Matt shrugs, smiles a stiff smile.

“It could still be worse,” he says.

“You can make the most of it, too, man,” Eli says.

“That’s what I try to think. But, I’m telling y’all, it ain’t easy.” Bryan says.

He looks at the ground, the edge of his lip trembles as it curls.

“Well, let’s get these Christmas presents done with, y’all.”

“What about that cut, man?!” shouts Eli as he smiles. “Let’s wrap it up before you pass out on us.”

“Sure, Bryan smiles with wrinkles in the corners. “Let’s get it done with.”

The sunshine falls on the sanitation workers in the church lot. The palm trees in front of the church shimmer, and a breeze blows their leaves about. An ad for Christian pre-schooling waves in the breeze. The white bird on the cross of the church flies away. Across the street, four men and women talk and laugh by a sign that says Eaton Park Hiking Trail.

Matt drags the dumpster. Eli leans on the truck and rubs an eye; sweat drenches his back, his armpits, and the neck of his shirt. Bryan stands in the shadow of the truck, also sweaty, his arm wrapped in a bandage. Salvador stands with his hands in his pockets, dirt of the parking lot on his back, wide eyes behind cracked glasses at the ground.

“Should we really dump these?” Matt asks, his tired eyes looking over the presents in the dumpster.

“Well,” Bryan says as he looks, too, “the rules are that if it’s in the dumpster, we should.”

As they think this rule over there is a cry from the dumpster. The men look toward the source of the sound, then at each other. They hear it again; sad and afraid.

Matt’s brows furrow. He leans over the edge of the dumpster and digs around. The cry is heard again.

“I think the sound is coming from this,” Matt says, as he raises a Christmas gift in his hand. “The gift that Mia dumped.”

The box is wrapped in red gift paper, has a sticker that reads “For The Whole Family” and has holes in the sides. The cry sounds again. Matt rips open the wrapping paper.

“Jesus…”

Matt reaches in the box, and, in his glove, he raises a black and white kitten.

“Well, what do you know… A cat,” Eli says, smiling. “He’s got to have used up one of his nine lives by now.”

Matt takes off a glove and strokes the cat’s fur. The cat purrs.

“Ain’t he a handsome fella,” Bryan smiles. “Who would toss a kitten into the trash, though? It would’ve been dumped in a landfill. Those folk were somethin’ else…” Bryan pets the kitten through his glove. “Well, hello, buddy. It’s your lucky day.”

“You guys know what this means?” Matt says.

“Let me take a picture; Aaliyah will want to see this.” Eli grins as he reaches in his pocket. “She gon’ get mad and be like ‘Why didn’t you bring it home for me?’”

Eli looks at the kitten, and smiles with wrinkles in the corners of his eyes. “What are we going to do with him, though?”

Bryan smiles with wrinkles in his eyes.

“I’ve got an idea,” he says. “Hey, Salvador!”

He catches Salvador’s gaze. Salvador walks up. Bryan hands him the kitten. Salvador pets it, and while he does so his eyes grow warm and happy, with wrinkles in the corners, for the first time that day, or any day the men have ever seen him.

“But what about the policy of the company?” Salvador asks.

“If anything comes up, give him to me. I’ll keep him at my house and you can visit him, man,” says Eli. “I’ll feed him, he’ll run around the backyard, and my daughter will definitely show him some love.”

“Thank you,” Salvador smiles. “This is so great. Even as I spoke of a pet.” The kitten purrs. “It’s a miracle.”

Bryan looks up at the sky. A cloud passes over the sun and puts them in shade. Then, the cloud reveals the sun again.

Bryan shrugs and smiles. “Merry day after Christmas, y’all.”

“Merry Christmas.” the rest of the dirty, sweaty, tired garbage men say.

Bryan looks around, his arms crossed, and his bottom lip trembles.

“You know, I lived alone in a cell for fifteen years,” Bryan says, rapture clear in his eyes and voice. “Who knows how this cat came to Salvador’s hands. Who knows how life works behind the curtains. All I know is that when you’re in prison, lying on a steel bed right next to your toilet, you think the world or humanity or God or the universe or whatever is over with ya’ for good. Ya’ think he’s took your life, tossed it away in the fire and done with ya’. You think you will never be forgiven.” Bryan smiles, and his voice grows higher, “But you can be forgiven. I’ve seen a lot of life. I’ve met a lot of folks. As an ex-con, as a sanitation worker, as an uneducated dumbass like I am, you might get to hatin’ and feelin’ hopeless because these big houses, churches and Tesla model X’s seem unfair. But, I’ve been thinkin’: We’re all the same. We’ve all got the same eyes, the same hands, the same minds, and the same hearts. We’re all equal in our bullshit. Despite that fool back there, despite us not bein’ equal in money and education, I still think most folk in places like San Carlos are good folk. I believe it. People here work hard, they’ve got relationships, they’ve got kids…There might be a few rotten peaches, but, I forgive ‘em.” He shrugs, takes a deep breath, and straightens up. “God or the universe or the planet or whatever will still bless ya’; like this cat here for Salvador. As true as the smile’s on our faces. It’s all the same in the end.”

“Yeah! ” Matt says, his smile wide. “True words, man.”

“You’ve got a point,” says Eli. “I thought this society was a cold, hateful place, but then my daughter was born and I thought, ‘if a sweet angel like this came from a woman like my baby momma, then there’s got to be hope.’”

The men smile knowingly. None of them laugh.

The kitten purrs as Salvador strokes it’s fur.

“If you do good, good comes back to ya’…,” Bryan says.

Bryan smiles with wrinkles at the edges of his wet eyes.

“Well, let’s get back to work, y’all.”

Monkey bars reflect the sun sharply, as well as the windows of an ice cream truck, metal benches, and the panes of sunglasses above stiff smiles. Children run, shout, and play. Parents talk on benches with their legs crossed, or on grass with a picnic set up. They talk about the best new tv shows, movies, tease their spouses, and discuss whatever they do for a living.

Bryan drags a full, black trash can towards the truck. Sweat drenches his shirt. A stain of some dark green liquid stains his jeans. He wipes his wet forehead in a sleeve, attaches the can to the back, and hits the button. He pounds the side of the truck with a fist.

“Almost done, y’all!” Bryan shouts. “One more service area!”

Matt smiles with wrinkles in his eyes. He rests on a curb, elbows on his knees, and pants. “It feels good to do something all the way to the end, man. It feels good to achieve something. Another day of hard work.”

“You’re absolutely right. I’ll be glad to sit down and rest tonight.” Bryan smiles. “Well, until tomorrow!”

Two kids run past them. One throws a football towards the other, but the other doesn’t catch it. The ball rolls up to Bryan.

“Go long!” he shouts.

Bryan throws it 20 yards with his bandaged arm, and the boy catches it.

“Now don’t fumble that again, or I’ll have to make ya’ do 50 pushups!”

Eli puts his head through the window. He grins, a loose dreadlock hangs over his forehead. Black grime stains his cheek.

“Almost time to smoke a fat blunt!” Eli shouts.

Matt smiles and shakes his head at the ground. Bryan laughs loud and well, wrinkles in the corner of his eyes.

A girl asks her mother “What’s a blunt?”

“It’s a grown-up word,” she replies, and looks at them angrily. “Come on, let’s go get some ice cream.”

“No, Eli!” Salvador yells. “There are children!”

Loud, hearty laughter comes from the truck’s window.

“No, no, I know it is all forgiven.”