The Night Shift | The Bottom 50% Own 2.5% of the Wealth of the Country

Moths circle the streetlights in the mostly empty lot. Blacktop. White parking lines. Road noise. Pickup doors slam shut.

They’re supposed to park at the back of the lot. Nobody who would care is here at eleven, and they’ll be gone before Beth gets in.

She’s at the door, counting heads. Everyone calls her Lou.

“I need you to go get Charlie,” she says. “He was supposed to be here an hour ago.”

No problem.

Charlie lives in a trailer park pretty close. Tires on gravel. Sideways glances. He bangs on the dark trailer door and waits. Quiet inside. Does it again. After a couple minutes Charlie opens the door, eyes bloodshot, smelling like too much of something.

“I’ll be right behind you.”

The kid leaves. When he gets back she’s still at the door.

“He’ll be here,” she says. “He always comes.”

Trucks back up to the dock. Boxes come down the rollers. Cardboard stacks up faster than anyone breaks it down. Most of the crew is new. Maybe they’ll last the week.

Charlie comes in at midnight and works the line like a man paying something off. Nobody says anything.

At the first break she’s smoking and eating a sandwich. Lettuce packed separate. Bread spread thin with dressing.