Candy bar wrappers lying in the gutter. Coke cans crushed in the street. A yellow light flashes at the intersection. Left goes west, and right leads you east. Dogs chase an old pickup truck down the street. A feral cat roams the alley. Cop cars cruise by stores on Main Street. The donut shop is open for business.

He carries a book bag filled with underwear, deodorant, toothpaste, a tee-shirt, and a copy of Ulysses. This is not Dublin.

On the corner, men stand in line for work at City Day Labor. Jobs handed out to those lucky ones; they’ll get to drink tonight. Tickets are given with company names on them and addresses. Some will take the bus. Others will walk a mile or two.

The young man gets in line with the others. A job is handed to him; laborer on a construction sight out by Highway 30.

This all you got? He asks the man in the cage, smoking a cigarette and drinking coffee.

You don’t want it? The caged animal asks.

Something a little closer would be great, he tells him.

You’re white. Sober. I’ll see what I can do, the boss man tells him. What’s your name?

Bloom, the youngster says.

Have a seat on the bench. I’ll see if something comes in. He goes through tickets and gives the laborer job to a Mexican waiting next in line. The immigrant makes no complaints and takes the job. He has a long walk ahead of him.

Hours go by, and the young man reads of Irish pubs and whores. A day in Dublin. He wishes he was there.

Bloom, the canary sings. Your lucky day, he says. Got a beer truck for you. Pays more than the rest. Lots of lifting. You want it? He asks.

How much? asks Bloom.

Fifteen an hour.

I’ll take it.