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Sorry, baby. Your sister drained the life out of me earlier. Rain check?

Yeah.

That would’ve went over real fucking good.

But besides that, I had bigger shit on my mind.

Levin.

And that fucking money.

I couldn’t focus on fifteen thousand dollars I owed my brother and getting head from my wife at the same time.

By lunchtime, I was sitting on an overturned five-gallon bucket inside a construction site in Jersey City, trying to figure out how the fuck I was gonna turn seven thousand dollars into fifteen.

We were working on a new six-story apartment building going up not too far from Journal Square. Half the shit was still exposed concrete and steel. Plastic sheeting covered some of the openings where windows would eventually go, and cold November air still found every fucking crack to come through.

I had on thermals underneath my work pants, hoodie underneath my reflective vest and my work boots were covered in dust.

Around me, niggas were scattered taking lunch.

Some in their cars.

One nigga was damn near asleep with his hard hat over his face.

I pulled my lunchbox onto my lap and unzipped it.

Soon as I opened the container, I smiled.

Baked pork chops.

Mashed potatoes.

Collard greens.

Sam.

Of course.

Even pissed at me, my wife still packed my fucking lunch.

There was a little folded piece of paper tucked underneath the fork.

I opened it.

Have a safe day. Love, Sam.

I stared at it for a second.

Then folded it back up.

“Man.”

I pressed the button on the side of the heated lunchbox like Sam always set it up for me to do and leaned forward with my elbows on my knees.

Sam was amazing to me.

That was the shit I hated about myself sometimes.