Chapter 3 - THE COPPER NEGOTIATION
The waitress didn't reach for the coins.
She kept her hands flat against the damp rag.
Her eyes scanned the boy’s beige t-shirt, noting the dark stains of dried mud near the hem.
She looked past him, her gaze landing on the old woman weeping in the wheelchair.
The waitress’s jaw tightened.
A flicker of hesitation crossed her face, a microscopic crack in her professional armor.
The boy gripped the edge of the counter.
His small, dirty fingerprints immediately marred the freshly wiped surface.
"Please give my grandma something to eat."
His voice was thin, vibrating with unshed tears.
"She is very hungry."
He stared at the bright silver name tag pinned to the waitress's chest.
It caught the overhead light, blinding him for a fraction of a second.
He pushed the three coins forward with his index finger.
The metal scraped against the wood.
Child logic spun wildly in his head.
Food comes from the kitchen. The kitchen listens to the silver machine. The silver machine only listens to coins.
If I give the coins, the machine will tell the kitchen to make a warm plate.
The waitress sighed.
It was a heavy, exhausted sound that rattled deep in her chest.
She reached out and picked up the damp rag.
She didn't look at the boy's face anymore.
She looked at a sleek, black tablet resting on a metal stand next to the cash register.
The screen glowed with blue light, displaying a grid of numbers and moving charts.
She tapped the screen with a manicured fingernail.
The boy watched her finger.
He didn't understand the blue light.
He only understood the smell of the roasted chicken rotating in the glass oven behind her.
He pushed himself higher on his tiptoes.
May you like
His stomach let out a sharp, audible growl.
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