Slowly, as if every muscle was weighed down, he raised his eyes. There stood Don Ricardo, the owner of “Grandma’s Seasoning.” A sturdy man with broad shoulders and a neatly groomed gray beard. His eyes, usually warm behind the counter, were now unreadable.
Juan felt his face flush, a mix of cold, hunger, and shame. He longed to disappear, to vanish into the earth. The piece of bread in his hand felt like it was burning. It was the evidence of his disgrace, of his fall from grace.
Don Ricardo took a step forward. Then another, slow and deliberate. Juan didn’t back down. He couldn’t. Panic had him rooted to the spot. The man stopped just a couple of meters away. His hand moved.
Juan closed his eyes, bracing for the scolding, the shove, the punishment. But none of that came. When he slowly opened his eyes, he saw that Don Ricardo wasn’t holding a stick or weapon. In his outstretched hand was something else. Something that gleamed in the dim light of the streetlamp.
It was a coin. No, not just a coin. It was a ten-dollar bill, crisp and new. Juan blinked, stunned. Was this a trick? Was he being ridiculed?
“Here,” Don Ricardo said in a deep, surprisingly gentle voice. “You don’t need to look through the trash. Come with me.”
Juan couldn’t process the words at first. His mind, fogged by hunger, struggled to understand. Come with him? Where? Why?
Don Ricardo didn’t wait for a response. He simply turned and walked toward the back door of the restaurant, leaving it slightly open. Warm light and tempting aromas drifted out into the alley. Juan hesitated. It was an invitation, but one so unexpected it seemed unreal.
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