I wait curbside in the Lowe’s parking lot. I’ve been refused worse jobs, but I have to eat. I have to pay my fourth of the rent at the studio apartment.
At last, a truck pulls up. The driver asks if anyone wants work. We start boarding the truck bed when the white driver puts a firm hand on my chest, halting me from climbing aboard with the rest of the day laborers.
“You got a Social?”
I know where this is going.
“Yes,” I reply.
“I ain’t paying minimum,” says the driver.
The truck rumbles away, and I’m still waiting.