That night, he slept in his truck. The seat was torn, the heater was broken, and he dreamed of nothing—because exhausted people don't dream. They just fall into the dark and wake up when the alarm says go .
"Tools?"
That got the foreman's attention. He chewed the end of his pen, scanning the kid from boots to cap. The boy stood with his weight forward, knuckles scabbed, jaw set. Not scared. Not cocky either. Just there , vibrating slightly, like a fence post the wind has just stopped shaking. ready rough and eager to please
Rough around every edge. Busted up in places that hadn't healed right. But God help him—so eager to please it hurt. Eager like a dog who's been kicked and still wags his tail when you say his name. Eager like a match against the strip: desperate to catch, desperate to burn, desperate to prove that the heat inside him has a purpose. That night, he slept in his truck