carryout

a man comes
in wearing a green luminous vest.
he's been
outside all day
in the cold.
his face raw, his hair
pulled back,
red and grey behind his
work helmet.
he's not old,
but his body leans
against
the counter as if in pain.
he pulls out
a pair of glasses
from his baggy pants
and reads the menu.
he counts the money that
he has,
letting the bills
unfold in his large in hand
then whispers, tiredly
what he wants
to the waitress.
a beer comes to him.
he doesn't look around.
he's not looking into anyone's
for anything.
he's hungry.