some residue of character

Anthony’s standing outside the Employment Security Commission joblink smoking a cigar, drinking Aquafina. He’s smiling this morning. Got a crick in his neck. "Musta slept wrong," he mutters. He’s been unemployed for three months. Laid off from his job as a "tool and dye guy." Just turned forty. Just broke up with his girlfriend. "Just got paid by the Feds," he says with a crooked smile. "Uncle Sam’s my Mister Charlie now…" He’s unsure of his future, though, says, "Some days I just don’t give a s**t. Other days I’m alright…" Today, he says, he’s alright. "Just had me a damn cheese omelet from The Waffle House. Those things are good? Mmmh."

His eyes are cloudy, has several scars on his face, "from the chickenpox." He’s dressed in camouflage pants, a green t-shirt, Timberland boots, a leather choker. He thinks it’s going to rain today, although he admits to not having heard a weather report in about six months.

A middle-aged woman wearing a scarf over her head and carrying a JCPenney bag gets off the city bus and walks toward Anthony.

"Where you been, boy?" she says.

"Girl, you don’ wanna know," Anthony says, shaking his head, taking another drag from the cigar. "How you been?"

"Shooot," the woman says. "Day late and a dolla short…"

Anthony nods.

The woman pulls out a pack of Lucky strikes, tamps one out, and puts it between her cracked lips.

Anthony lights the woman’s cigarette.

"Wouldn’t be so bad if somebody gimme a job," the woman says.

"Why you wanna job?" Anthony says, ironically.

"I dunno," the woman says. "Keeps me outta trouble."

The two are quiet for a moment, enjoying their tobacco and their downtime.

Then Anthony says, "How’s Andre?"

Andre is her only son. "Quit his job, moved out to Seattle," she says with a smirk.

"How come?"

The woman shrugs. "Be in a band, play in a band, doin’ somethin’ in a band… boy’s almost thirty-five years old… what is it with you men?"

Anthony smiles.

"Well, lemme get in here and see if I can’t find me a job…"

"What kinda job you lookin’ for?"

"Somethin’ that don’ wear me out," she says, putting her cigarette out in the ashtray. "These old bones ‘r’ tiired…"

"I heard that," Anthony says.

As the woman walks into the building, Anthony lights another cigar. He’s decided not to knock himself out today, as he watches the parking lot begin to fill up with Lexus’, Navigators, Escalades, Camrys, Accords…

He’s still smiling, though.

It’ll be alright, he thinks… It’ll all be alright.