"Hamberger with fries or beef soup with baked bread." Said Laura McNeely. "That's what's on the menu today."
Aside from a few new faces, the daily routine for the soup kitchen is pretty much the same.
James starts off serving fries from behind the counter. When most everyone had finished and left for home, he started collecting the dirty dishes and utensils from the many plastic picnic benches in the room.
"Hey! I still need that!" Said a man who was just finishing up eating at a bench. His plate was clean, but he insisted that his spoon was still needed.
"I'm Sorry. Just put it in the bin when you're done." Said James.
"I'll think about it!" Exclaimed the man. He then walked off with the spoon.
"Hey, it's ok," said Laura, "if we're missing one or two utensils, it's no big deal. Most people don't have issues with the cutlery."
"I see." Said James and smiled. Then walked outside for a break.
Walking onto the sidewalk, he saw that the streetlights made gold cone-shaped spotlights on the pavement and boulevard. Dark shadows lay everywhere and made good places where one could hide.
After working in the soup kitchen for only a few hours, he felt tired. But it was a good kind of tired as if he had worked hard in his lab all day and discovered something new.
He walked across the four-lane road to get a better look at the building he was in. It was a short five-story structure that sat in the middle of the block, and Its construction was in no way modern. If time travel were possible, it could easily be confused with any other small-town building from the twentieth century. Actually, the whole place had the look of a Midwest American city in decline. He was just about to walk back across the street when he heard a voice.
"How's the soup?" The disheveled, solitary man spoke from the shadows.
"Fine, I guess; I didn't have any myself."
"I don't blame you; I never eat there."
"...Hi, I'm James. Do you live around here?"
"I did until the soup kitchen forced me out."
"Forced you out? What do you mean?"
"As you can see, the neighborhood had been struggling for years. I guess it's not all the soup kitchen's fault, but when they built the mega-market in the suburbs years back, we small businesses began to struggle. This used to be a nice neighborhood, filled with families and children, but the soup kitchen was the final nail in our community's coffin. After they showed up, the families moved away, and the poor and needy began to take over. Now I'm working for the shipyards, but even that's struggling now." The man's eyes began to water, and a furrowed brow showed years of worry. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to kill your goodwill buzz. I just come around here to remember from time to time. Have a nice night." He walked back into the darkness.
James called out.
"Hey, what's your name?"
"They call me Philly. Philips the name, or at least it will be for a little while longer. Good night." And with that, he was gone.
James Walked back to the kitchen. Laura was waiting for him and smiling.
"What's wrong," she said softly, "why the long face?"
"I was feeling good until I met this guy across the street. He said the kitchen forced him out of the neighborhood."
"Who?"
"Some guy. Phillips, I think, was his name."
"Oh, that crazy old man has been sulking around here for years. Don't pay him any attention; he's just bitter."
YOU ARE READING
In The Shadow Of The Tower
Science FictionTwo super-rich kids grow into young adulthood and struggle with their feelings for one another. She has loved him for quite some time, but he is unsure and needs to figure things out. She is also engineered by her father's company to love someone el...
