The man sat inside his truck. Hiding from the heat of the day. It was the middle of summer. Daily highs were forecasted to be above 100 degrees each day. His truck was new, though the smell of formaldehyde had long given way to cigarette smoke. The man sat, and rubbed his chest. He felt good, he could breathe again well, and felt strong. He coughed up a deep rumble of phlegm.

He watched Sam, driving the tractor. Sam, pushing the arm controls forward, and backward. Loading pieces of freshly broken concrete into a dumpster. Sam’s eyes were squinted against the sun. They scanned for obstacles in the road. Sam thought of long gone days of youth, and hope. The tractor extended the bucket above the cab of the skid loader, and tipped out the cache of rubble. The steel walls of the dumpster screamed and rang. The man winced. The sound came crashing in through the cracked windows of his truck.

The men were tired from the morning’s work. They’d had a taxing day. Before they had come to this driveway, they had poured another. They were digesting their lunch, still. Working slowly, full of greasy fried foods. Sam was scooping more rubble up with the machine. He wasn’t such a bad operator after all, thought Brian.

Brian was 22. He’d graduated from college the year before in graphic design. He watched the man in the truck, smoking. He watched Sam, pushing the machine back and forth, taking turns scooping up the pieces, and dumping them into the box. He thought about how hot the sun was on his bare skin. He thought how nice his muscles must look, flexed brown bubbles as he picked up a piece to throw into the bucket.

Brian hated his job, and resented that he was here today. He’d stayed up late the night before, and was hungover and tired. He sweat more than usual, alcohol seeping through his pores. He was upset he’d been dragged to this next job. He was upset with the state of affairs of his life. He wondered why the old man just sat in his truck. Usually, the old man got out and worked with him and Sam. They took breaks, sure, to escape the heat once an hour or so. But, the man had sat in his truck for nearing a half hour now.

“Let’s take five minutes, yeah?” Sam said to Brian.

“Can i have a smoke?”

And so Sam, climbed out of the tractor. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a crumpled package of cigarettes. He pulled two out, and offered one out to Brian. Sam liked Brian, and found him entertaining. Brian thanked Sam, and put fire to the stick of paper in his mouth.

“My old man sure has been acting weird today, I really do think he should go to the doctor.” Sam said.

“The fuck are you guys doing? Let’s go boys!” the man yelled from the truck.

Brian looked at Sam, hoping he’d respond, but Sam just shrugged his shoulders. They ignored the man, and continued to idle, chatting now about Brian’s night.

The truck pulled out and away from the job. The motor hummed loud as he pulled onto the side street.

Brian’s cigarette was nearly finished, he looked at Sam for some sort of direction, and threw his butt into the pile of rubble that earlier had been a functioning driveway. They looked at each other, and Sam hopped into the tractor again. With his seatbelt on, and the safety bar lowered, he revved the motor, and began again upon the work set in front of him. They both knew exactly what their jobs were. Sam would continue to drive the loader, taking bucket upon bucket to the dumpster, and Ryan would watch, occasionally throwing a piece or two into the bucket. The men worked silently for a few hours. The tractor’s motor growls low, and one is best advised to wear ear muffs, so conversation is futile. At times Sam would stop driving, rev down the engine, and watch as Brian loaded pieces into the bucket.

Brian couldn’t get out of his head how much he hated this job. Here he was, in the dry air of the plains, bending over to push and lift pieces of rubble. His job was to help the man and Sam rip up old and cracked driveways, and put in new ones. He’d been here for almost a year now. He had disliked it from the beginning, to a degree. He never saw it as a permanent fixation of his life, and therefore never really tried to learn much more than the bare minimum to stay employed. He was a grunt, he thought. He’s doing some of the lowliest work that humanity does in the civilized world.

“I could be at home, sleeping. Not out here, sweating, my back aching, breathing in dust and diesel exhaust. I could be in my recliner, petting my cat, I could be at home, just getting up for the day, taking my coffee. But, here I am, stuck here until the man says we’re done. I stand here for hours, just watching Sam drive this tractor. I’m thirsty, and tired, and hungover. Salty sweat drips into my eyes, stinging, and it makes me mad. The sun is ever present, and there is no shade to stand in. My feet hurt, and my back hurts, and the blisters on my fingers hurt. My sunburn from last week is bubbled up and peeling, and here I am, out in the light, burning up the peeling sunburn. I should be in a studio, in the air, with women in dresses. Sitting at a cubicle, staring at a computer screen, taking leisurely restroom breaks. But here I am, in somebodys front lawn, wearing rags for clothing, my boots torn to shreds. Without water, without a chair, with no shade, and I’m exhausted. I could be using my college education to get a job that pays similiar to this, even better. My parents wouldn’t bother me then. My life would be better, then. But here I am with Sam, wasting my life away standing on rubble, and moving pieces of rock.”

Sam was getting towards the end of the driveway. The box was filling up, and the pieces were harder to capture with the tractor. Brian knew he was about to have to throw in, by hand, the rest of the rubble, and sighed. He wanted to groan loudly, and yell. He wanted to leave. He wanted to go home and sleep off his feelings of unease. But, his rent was due tomorrow, and even though he didn’t have enough to pay it, he wanted his paycheck, and he’d want another one next week. So, he walked over to the tractor, bent over, and started throwing pieces into the tractor bucket. Sam would gun up the machine, and take trips out to the street to dump the loads. And Brian would continue to bend over and pick up pieces of rubble, throw them into the bucket until it was full. Brian wondered why sam never got out and helped him. Why he just sat in the machine, and watched. But Brian had learned not to expect too much of his coworker.

In down moments of the tractor making trips, Brian stretched, and looked around for the faucet on the house.

Sam would come back, and try to scoop up more, but it was pointless now, the last few pieces would all need to be thrown in by hand. Brian knew this, and wondered why Sam even tried. Brian wanted to go home, and knew enough that if Sam didn’t waste time trying to do something impossible, he could just load the bucket faster by hand. This bothered Brian.

The wind blew, and felt cool on Brian’s wet skin. For a moment, he forgot he was working. Forgot that he was hungover and, and doing manual labor. He had a vision of himself, successful, sipping a coconut drink with an umbrella, upon a boat. He pretended he was well off, and owned a boat, and had a pretty wife, and owned three suits, and carried a briefcase. He was important, and got cell phone calls regularly. He had a nice saving account, a 401k, drove a new convertable car, and never had to worry that his house wasn’t cold enough. That his air conditioning didn’t work in his car. He had visions of never worrying about rent. He was happy in that moment, far away from standing in the middle of a construction site.

“Cigarette?” Sam called.

The noise came from far away, but upon hearing it, he was taken back to the moment. He was parched, he’d sweated out, and his gloves were greasy and had big holes in them. His lower back ached. His head pounded with pain.

“Thanks” He said to Sam.

So he puffed at the smoke. Grateful to have a break from the work again. He was slightly annoyed with Sam. Sam would talk about his younger years, about politics, about social issues. Brian would talk about such things, too, but he had this feeling that Sam didn’t have a very objective view of the world. Sam would say things like

“the mexicans are trying to take over our country. the blacks are upset that they’re being pushed away from the spotlight, and that is why they riot. We should deport all of the illegal immigrants.”

He would repeat viewpoints he’d heard on the news, read online somewhere. He was like a parrot, but one with at least a small sense of self. Brian found Sam very boring. He’d seemed to have heard everything Sam had to say, and was unimpressed by what he’d found.

Nearing the end of his cigarette, Brian became again frustrated. He was upset they weren’t working fast enough. He knew that at the rate they were going, they had at least another two or three hours before the job was ready to pour. It was three in the afternoon now. His bank closed at 5, and he needed to cash his check before they closed.

The men got back to work. Sam set the tempo of the afternoon, and Brian wondered now where the old man had gone. When he’d be back. When the old man conducted the orchestra they worked fast, the old man worked hard, and expected the men to do the same. The old man also wanted to go home for the day when the day grew to mid afternoon. Sam never really talked about wanting to go home.

Sam was resigned to the fact that he was there, and this was his life. He was okay working until six PM everyday. He was not happy about it, but he would do it, and not complain. This bothered Brian at times. He never wanted to work past lunch. Once he’d had his calorie intake, and woken up for the day, he usually wanted to go home. His brain was again functioning well, he’d woken up, and was upset to find himself in this routine. This dream that he called his life.

Throwing the last piece of rubble into the bucket, Brian felt a sense of accomplishment. They’d finished step one of this job. It might have a long ways to go, but they had something completed now.

“Brian, you wanna grab some stakes, and a string line, and the level?” Sam called, walking back up to the job from where he’d parked the tractor in the street.

So Brian grabbed the supplies, and laid them out where they belonged in the street. They set forms along the perimeter of the driveway, and the white work truck pulled up to the job. The old man rolled down his window and said

“That’s all you guys have done?”, and chuckled.

“That’s it for today boys. We’ve done all we can do.”

With that Brian helped load up the tools, tidying up the job site. He went to his car, and started it up, first try. He sat, an

d thought about a shower, about his evening. He thought about his rent, and how his interview went last week. He found music to play on his phone, and drove off down the street.

He woke up the next morning to a phone call. He’d fallen back to sleep after looking out the window to see dark skies and rain splatter on his window. He was groggy, and confused answering the telephone from a foreign number.

“Hello, is this Brian Hammond?”

“This is he.”

“Hi Brian, this is Chad from Innovative Design Studios, how are you?”

“I’m good, how about yourself?”

“Good. I was calling because we’ve decided to make a second round of interviews, and you’re one of the people we’ve decided to call back.”

“Oh, awesome, what then, what’s the next step?”

“How’s this Thursday morning at 9 sound to you, Mr. Hammond?”

“That works, I’ll see you then, thanks.”

“Thank you.”

Brian pushed the red button, and looked to see what time it was. Nine fifteen. In two days he had a second interview. The end was in sight, he thought. He felt optimistic about the day. He looked at the forecast, and after seeing mostly rain for the day, he set his phone back on the nightstand, and closed his eyes.

He woke up around eleven AM. Opening his eyes, hearing the rain, the phone call came back to him. His cheeks tightened, his front teeth were shown to his empty room. He pushed the covers off him, and walked to the bathroom. The carpet was sticky, and the night had made him feel greasy and unclean. He looked at himself in the mirror, and his face had a certain glow to it, he was happy, and had optimism for his future.

He washed his face and hands, and his face relaxed, the glow was gone.