One more ham and cheese sandwich stacked on top of the first and a pear out of the fruit bowl filled up Mert’s lunch pail. Now he sat alone in his kitchen waiting for the percolators blend of hot coffee that he would pour into that big green plaid thermos like every other morning before heading off to the plant. Mert tied his freshly resoled boots as tight as he could with new leather laces that were a gift from Cecil at the little cobbler’s shop on Main Street. Once the coffee was poured he turned off the kitchen light and left a bit early to take a longer trek to work so as to break in those new soles before standing at his machine for nine long hours.

Instead of a quick right off the porch, he headed left up Spruce intending to go four or five blocks then crossing down to 3rd and back onto his regular route. The clanging of bottles almost startled him when he came upon “Zoops” delivering milk.

“Headed in the right direction, Mert?” quizzed Zoops.

“Getting’ these boots broke in with a long walk,” he replied.

“Two quarts today, Mert?” asked the deliveryman.

“Sure, same as always. Catch you tomorrow,” he answered.

After about three blocks he realized that his left shoe wasn’t as tight as it ought to be so he stopped and retied its lace to snug it up a bit better. Not all streetlights were working over on this side of town; something he never would have known otherwise. This part of town was home to his pain in the neck foreman, so he ventured down here with trepidation. A couple years back he made a simple bet on the World Series with a few guys on his crew and he won. As he was collecting his winnings from those individuals, his foreman walked up behind him and asked what was going on. Not thinking ahead, Mert spun around and held the money under Mr. Grayling’s nose and said, “I’m making money, buddy!” Ever since then, whenever Mert is away from his machine talking with a coworker and Grayling approaches he is bound to ask, “Earning money or making money Mert?” Chances of running into his foreman are rather remote as Grayling is never early for work. As a matter of fact, he almost always strides through the gates while the whistle is sounding.