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The bar was unusually empty in the afternoon. Kevin was wiping glasses behind the counter.
The door opened, and Shane carried the insulated box in, braving the cold wind.
"Yo, the South Side Mobile Breakfast Cart is back?"
Kevin waved his hand.
"How was it? Did the guys at the construction site buy it at noon? Your batch sold really fast here last night; a few hungry drunks almost fought over the last portion!"
He winked, looking like "Big Brother supports you," and then asked.
"Is this the extra from noon? Want me to help you sell it all? Tell me, how much are you planning to sell me? Let me say this first, if the price is right, I'll definitely take it. Having more food in the bar keeps people around for a couple more drinks."
Shane put the insulated box on the bar.
"Sold okay at noon, just prepared a bit too much, a dozen or so left. I can't finish it myself, thought you might need something here that goes well with alcohol and fills the stomach."
Hearing "prepared too much" and "leftover," Kevin subconsciously frowned, but immediately relaxed and nodded.
"Alright, leave it here. I'll help you sell it. But let's be clear upfront, don't quote too high, or I won't make any profit."
As he spoke, he reached out and unbuckled the insulated box.
Lifting the lid, white meal boxes were neatly stacked in two layers inside.
Kevin poked around and saw that each box contained two main dishes:
Either a burger with a chicken roll, or two burritos, or a burrito with a sandwich. Looking at it made one feel full.
"Stuff looks decent," he nodded. "So, what price are you planning to ask?"
Shane looked at Kevin: "Two dollars thirty."
Kevin's hand involuntarily trembled.
"Holy shit! Two thirty?!"
He widened his eyes and leaned forward. "Who the fck are you selling this to? Prison labor? One burger for two thirty, so this box costs me four sixty?"
Shane gave him a "is your brain okay" look: "What are you thinking? One box, two main dishes, two thirty."
Actually, Shane had already calculated the bill in his heart.
Giving Kevin this price, although his own gross profit was thin, he got a stall with zero rent, zero labor cost, and built-in customer flow in return, which was a good deal.
Kevin froze, looking like his brain couldn't process it:
"Wait, wait a minute, let me calculate... two main dishes, one box two thirty. I can sell it for six fifty, add a beer or coke, make a 'Late Night Worker Combo,' and I can earn more than half... Isn't this fcking normal wholesale price?!"
He was originally wondering if Shane would take the opportunity to jack up the price, but Shane threw the 'wholesale price' directly in his face. Although Shane might still earn a little, this price was a reasonable wholesale price.
Kevin looked down at the meal box, then looked up at Shane, and said:
"Are you sure you don't want to add a bit? Three dollars is fine too. Just pretend I didn't hear the two thirty."
Shane yawned: "As long as you make money. Saves me the trouble."
Kevin glanced at him, suddenly reached out to wrap his arm around Shane's shoulder, and punched him laughingly.
"Deal! This batch goes for two thirty. If it sells well, I'll open a column for you on the menu, writing 'South Side Special Combo, Produced by Shane Gallagher'."
Shane also punched him back on the shoulder, his fist sinking into a layer of soft flesh.
"Don't write my last name. People might think I mixed rat meat in it."
"Ok," Kevin laughed. "Let's leave it at that for now. After selling these, I'll see which ones sell well and order from you again. How about that?"
"No problem." Shane nodded. "Then I'll go back to catch up on sleep."
He didn't stay long, turning to walk out, but he noticed the shaking chin and belly when Kevin laughed just now.
In a few more days, I can start filming videos.
...
The next morning, the car stopped at the familiar alley entrance.
At the crack of dawn, the black vendor Marcus had already arrived, leisurely arranging his donuts.
Seeing Shane walk over carrying a folding chair, he smiled, revealing white teeth.
But when he saw Fiona following behind Shane, his eyebrows raised, and he whistled.
"Yo! Shane! Brought a helper? And such a beautiful helper!" he teased.
Shane said while setting up the table: "My sister, Fiona. Helping out today."
Fiona nodded at Marcus as a greeting, but her hands didn't stop working.
Marcus didn't mind, smiling and saying to Shane:
"Alright, kid, but let me tell you, I prepared a lot of stock today too."
He pointed to the obviously increased number of paper boxes at his feet. "If you get too busy later, I can't help you; I have to mind my own stall."
"No problem," Shane responded, starting to move things down with Fiona.
They prepared plenty today, with about a hundred portions of each food item, and brewed five large buckets of coffee.
With their back and forth trips, stacks of insulated boxes and coffee buckets piled up behind their small stall, looking like a fast-food restaurant without a storefront, appearing somewhat conspicuous on this cold street corner.
However, it was just past 6:30. Besides a few passersby hurrying past with shrunk necks, no one else on the street had the leisure to look closely.
Marcus glanced at the setup on Shane's side, his eyes widening.
"Whoa whoa whoa... Shane! You fcking... are you planning to corner the entire morning business at the subway entrance?"
Shane stacked the last insulated box. "If possible, it's not impossible."
...
Before long, the morning rush crowd surged from all directions again.
Fiona initially stood behind Shane to the side, with scrutiny and "I want to see" skepticism on her face.
But when several people in front of the small stall handed over bills simultaneously, shouting "Combo!" "Coffee, quick!", and Shane couldn't handle the turnover alone, her expression changed.
That little bit of doubt in her heart was washed away by the scene before her.
It wasn't that Fiona hadn't seen so many people, but she hadn't seen so many people coming here for these simply heated foods, handing over money so urgently, afraid Shane wouldn't sell to them.
But she didn't freeze for long. When Shane turned and called her name, she had already stepped up to help.
"Collect money! See clearly how much is given! Combo four fifty, single item two fifty, coffee fifty cents!"
Shane instructed quickly, his packing movements not stopping.
"Got it!" Fiona had already taken five dollars from an office worker with one hand, and dug out fifty cents change from the cash box with the other.
At the same time, her eyes swept to the bill in another customer's hand nearby.
"You're giving ten? Wait a sec!"
Fiona took over the cashier and change-giving process.
Her movements were fast, calculation even faster.
Now Fiona was collecting money while maintaining the line.
"Stand to the side! Don't block! You, what do you want? Louder!"
Someone wanted to cut in line; she glared. "Queue at the back. Everyone is in a hurry, don't waste everyone's time."
Shane only needed to bury his head in grabbing goods, packing, and handing them out, occasionally reconfirming the combo.
The pressure of collecting money, calculating accounts, and maintaining order was taken over by Fiona, and the efficiency of the small stall improved visibly.
During the peak time of the crowd, although the stall was crowded, it wasn't as chaotic as yesterday.
The doubt on Fiona's face was long gone. Sweat began to bead on her forehead, but her eyes were gradually brightening.
...
After nine o'clock, the crowd finally receded.
The two didn't speak and started packing up, moving things back to the car one by one.
Closing the car door, Shane started the engine and drove towards home. The noon construction site session was still waiting, and he had to go back to prepare other goods.
In the passenger seat, Fiona put the metal cash box on her lap and unbuckled the latch.