Matty showered to wash off the burnt grease smell. It was 13:00. First of two shifts done.
His little boy sat in front of the telly, transfixed by the weekend’s big match, likely imagining himself on the pitch.
The crowd whistled at a foul. Matty sighed while remembering the tackle that shattered his leg. He might have made it to the top league otherwise.
“I’ll see you after dinner. Take care of your mum, okay?”
His son nodded.
Matty grabbed his nametag and bus fare. He was still working towards the dream of professional football. It just wasn’t his dream anymore.