The wind threatened to remove Jack’s baseball cap as he traversed the parking lot, his eyes alert to the appearance of white reverse lights and vagabond shopping buggies. 16:27 read his wristband, another hour and eighteen minutes until break time. That was one of the few nice things about the grunt job, timely breaks. A waggling brown plastic bag caught his attention. Trash wasn’t hard to find in the lot, but this bag had some weight that kept it in place. Jack bent down after making sure he wouldn’t be plowed over by an oblivious soccer mom in a mini van. Please be filled with $20 bills. Nope. He doubted the tuna cans would yield him any fortune. Oh well. He shoved another batch of carts up the hill, cussing the lazy customers in his head. Although their ineptitude to even return the cart they had used, half the time even to their steel pen, helped secure his very job, he resented them. He plodded out to clear the handicapped parking area. At least they have an excuse. A familiar black green figure demanded his attention. He jogged and stepped on the man’s face. Washington’s wallpaper was torn. Poor guy. It wasn’t a twenty, but a ragged dollar was better than nothing. Jack supposed that this was more realistic, earning a living chasing a dollar at a time.