| out with every detail because I was in control of the conversation. He was critical of my thievery, but I didn’t try to defend it. The file itself was another complicated issue, one neither of us wanted to explore. “So the Drake & Sweeney bridge has been burned?” he asked as we ate. “Permanently.” “How long do you plan to be a public interest lawyer?” “I’ve just started. I really hadn’t thought about the end. Why?” “How long can you work for nothing?” “As long as I can survive.” “So survival is the standard?” “For now. What’s your standard?” It was a ridiculous question. “Money. How much I make; how much I spend; how much I can stash away somewhere and watch it grow so that one day I’ll have a shitpot full of it and not have to worry about anything.” I had heard this before. Unabashed greed was to be admired. It was a slightly cruder version of what we’d been taught as children. Work hard and make plenty, and somehow society as a whole would benefit. He was daring me to be critical, and it was not a fight I wanted. It was a fight with no winners; only an ugly draw. “How much do you have?” I asked. As a greedy bastard, Warner was proud of his wealth. “When I’m forty I’ll have a million bucks buried in mutual funds. When I’m forty-five, it’ll be three million. When I’m fifty, it’ll be ten. And that’s when I’m |
a tray of sliced white bread. I took it and followed him to a table. “It’s real complicated. You got bologna here, mustard and mayo there. Half the sandwiches get mustard, half get mayo, one slice of bologna, two slices of bread. Do a dozen with peanut butter every now and then. Got it?” “Yeah.” “You catch on quick.” He slapped me on the shoulder and disappeared. I hurriedly made ten sandwiches, and declared myself to be proficient. Then I slowed, and began to watch the people as they waited in line, their eyes downcast but always glancing at the food ahead. They were handed a paper plate, a plastic bowl and spoon, and a napkin. As they shuffled along, the bowl was filled with soup, half a sandwich was placed on the plate, then an apple and a small cookie were added. A cup of apple juice was waiting at the end. Most of them said a quiet “Thanks” to the volunteer handing out the juice, then they moved away, gingerly holding the plate and bowl. Even the children were still and careful with their food. Most seemed to eat slowly, savoring the warmth and feel of food in their mouths, the aroma in their faces. Others ate as fast as possible. Next to me was a gas stove with four burners, each with a large pot of soup cooking away. On the other side of it, a table was covered with celery, carrots, onions, tomatoes, and whole chickens |
