One man stood apart from the other three who were hanging around in front of the Labor Exchange. He was smaller than the others, but he was the only one smiling. He was also the only one without a hat. His blue-black hair was parted and neatly combed, thick with pomade. He wore a white button-down shirt with dress slacks. And wingtips. Wingtips!

I pointed at the other three, and they all took seats in the back of the truck. Before I pulled out of the parking lot, I took a last look at the fourth man.

“Work for you?” He was beaming at me, showing a mouthful of straight, well-kept teeth, walking toward the truck with his hands out, palms up. “Please. I am a good man.”

And I am a goddamned sucker.   […]


The story appeared in the The Writer’s Workshop Review, Volume 14, January 2020. ◾ Request full textSee all stories