said quietly. “Could I please get a bowl of soup and some water? I have four dollars.”

I opened my hand to show her the money.

She barely glanced at it.

“We’re fully booked.”

I looked toward the empty tables.

“What about those?”

“Reserved.”

“All of them?”

She sighed.

“Sir, there’s a fast-food place a few blocks away.”

I stood there feeling strangely invisible.

I had built this restaurant.

My mother’s photograph hung just a few feet away.

Yet the employee standing in front of me treated me as though I didn’t deserve to enter.

I was about to leave when someone called out.

“Excuse me, sir. Wait.”

A young waitress approached from the kitchen.

She had dark hair and wore a black apron that seemed slightly too large for her.

Her name tag read AMBER.

She looked at my face rather than my clothes.