Ring ring ring—!
Ring ring ring—!
In the Gallagher basement, the alarm clock in Shane's bedroom rang.
"Fck..."
A hand shot out from under the quilt, smacked the alarm clock, and the whole person sprang up from the bed.
When he went to Karen's house last night, he thought it would be a relaxed ball game. Unexpectedly, Karen acted like she wanted to "take revenge on Eddie and society along the way," directly raising the game to the level of NBA confrontation.
Fortunately, Shane's body was tough and his quality was high, finally securing victory with a big slam dunk.
Finally, he chatted with Karen for a while. When he climbed out the window from her house, it was already almost twelve o'clock.
Returning to the basement, he still had to prepare things for the morning.
Cardboard, colored markers, and price list templates from Temu were spread on the table. He had to write down the coffee prices and combo prices line by line.
He also sorted the paper cups, paper bags, and food needed for tomorrow morning into boxes and piled them by the door.
By the time he finished preparing all this and looked at the time, it was already close to one o'clock.
And now, the time displayed on the alarm clock on the table was—5:30.
Shane took a deep breath and threw off the covers to get up.
He couldn't sleep in. He had to rush to the Central Park subway station entrance closest to the Gallagher house around 6:30 to secure a spot.
Why so early?
Because if he didn't arrive early enough, not only would the spots be taken by those old vendors who came to the subway entrance at six, but even the less conspicuous parking spots nearby that could block the view a bit would be gone.
At that time, not only would there be no place to set up the stall, but the car would either be parked very far away, tiring him out moving goods back and forth like a dog.
Or he could only park in those conspicuous spots at the subway entrance, moving boxes out of the car in front of a bunch of office workers.
But in that case, it wouldn't take long for patrol officers to come over and "express concern about his business license."
So, he had to get a head start and park the car at the entrance of that inconspicuous alley to occupy that spot.
He turned on both the oven and the microwave, put the food in to heat up, and boiled tap water to make coffee.
What? You ask why use tap water containing lead to make coffee? For a 40-cent cup of coffee, do you American residents expect mineral water?
Going up to the first floor, he heated a few sandwiches in the first-floor microwave and boiled another pot of water. Only then did Shane take this gap to wash up simply, then put on a hoodie.
His thinking was simple—
These ingredients were all semi-finished products. He only needed to time it right to set up the stall smoothly.
In his vision, he would make about seventy servings each of sandwiches, burgers, and chicken rolls, and brew three large buckets of coffee. He planned to sell only this much today, pack up when sold out, and not be greedy.
Unfortunately, there is a saying that plans can never keep up with changes.
Because it was his first time doing this scale of breakfast business, when Shane really got started, he realized that many things were different from what he imagined.
Just as he picked up the kettle to brew the first pot of coffee, the oven went "ding";
He had to take out the baked burgers and stuff them into paper boxes first. before he packed a few, the microwave also went "ding," and the chicken rolls were ready too.
Shane was like a spinning top, starting to circle between the living room stove, the basement oven, and the microwave, with no idle time for his hands.
Ring ring ring!
Just as he was working with both hands, wishing he could grow three heads and six arms, the mobile phone in his pants pocket vibrated.
That was the alarm he set last night for loading the car and leaving.
He pulled out the phone and looked. "Fck! It's already six-twenty?"
Shane didn't feel like it had been that long, and this was too far from his estimate.
Originally planned to make seventy servings of each kind and three large pots of coffee, the actual situation now was:
The number of seventy servings became about fifty, and only two buckets of coffee were brewed.
But there was no time for him to continue making them.
"Fine, let's just test the waters with these today."
Shane accepted this fact and began to pack.
Insulated boxes, coffee pots, paper cups, lids, straws, signs, price lists... boxes of things were moved out one by one.
When moving, he had to try his best to keep the noise down so as not to wake up the whole Gallagher family upstairs.
After several trips up and down, everything was finally moved to the yard and stuffed into Kevin's broken van.
Shane jumped into the driver's seat, inserted the key, ignited, and the engine hummed twice, barely waking up.
...
When he drove the car near Central Park station, the time was already 6:38 in the morning.
Shane glanced at his phone, no time to dwell on the time, and hurriedly drove the car into the small alley by the subway station entrance.
Fortunately, he wasn't too late this time. There were still one or two empty spots in those less conspicuous alleys. He picked a place that was relatively hidden from view and convenient for moving goods, and slammed on the brakes.
Shane got out of the car quickly and began moving things out of the carriage.
He had observed on the way here. The corners directly in front of the subway entrance, with the highest traffic flow and best wind shelter, had long been occupied by those old vendors. Pushcarts and folding tables were lined up like the Maginot Line.
Shane looked twice, realistically gave up the idea of grabbing the first row with them, and settled for the next best thing, looking along the street where the flow of people would pass by.
Turning past a dumpster, he saw an open space next to a row of newspaper boxes.
Although there was already someone next to the open space, a black vendor sitting on a folding chair against the wall, wearing a thick work jacket, hat brim pulled low.
On the folding table in front of him were several paper boxes containing cinnamon rolls, donuts, and some loose paper cups.
But there was still an empty spot next to this stall that could fit his things.
When Shane carried the folding table down from the car and moved it to the other side of the newspaper boxes, just about to put it down, the black man looked up at him and spoke:
"Hey, kid, don't get too close."
His voice wasn't fierce, but carried a warning tone of an old vendor looking at a new vendor. "I've always squatted on this spot."
Shane froze for a moment, then smiled, raising both hands to show he had no hostility.
"Don't worry, brother, I'm not stealing your rice bowl."
As Shane spoke, he moved the table back half a step and pointed to his cardboard menu. "I sell burgers, coffee, chicken rolls, savory stuff."
He looked at the other party's pot of hot cocoa and the paper boxes on the table again.
"You have cinnamon rolls, donuts, hot cocoa, sweet stuff. Those who want sweet will go to you; those who want savory to fill their stomachs will come to me. Our customer sources don't conflict."
The black vendor grunted, his eyes scanning Shane's face, then glancing down at his well-trained physique, judging whether this kid was here to cause trouble or make a living.
A few seconds later, he nodded slowly.
"Alright." He leaned back in his chair. "Remember not to put your table too close; leave a path."
"No problem," Shane answered crisply, moving the table another half meter to the side, ensuring a gap for people to walk normally.
With the position determined, Shane truly began to get busy.