Kevin McCarthy jogged up the subway steps with such exuberance that the few souls going in the opposite direction at 5:30 in the morning moved aside. At the top of the stairs he inhaled the scent of the city, still stale from the night before.
Under a sign marked Service Entrance, a path led past trash barrels, toward a black steel door. This was not Kevin’s first job in the brotherhood—that’s what his father called the union. When he reached for the buzzer, the rubber band twisted around his wrist, as tight as he could stand it, pulled at the hairs on his arm. The tug against his skin was to remind him of the role he was playing: a kid without experience.
Continue reading “Brothers”
Bonita LeFlore 