Navigating the narrow, dirty streets, Evelyn grimaced at the beating being inflicted on her car.

"These aren't roads. They're treacherous mine fields submerged in muddied puddles—ugh!" She gritted her teeth as her tire slammed into a hidden pothole the size of a watermelon. Her ass was being bruised to hell. The trash, the abandoned buildings—the unfamiliar landscape—all of it made her uneasy. Gripping the Toyota's steering wheel, she reminded herself a broken front axel and a sore tailbone were a small price to pay for her self respect.

At least I don't have to kiss Raymond Sinclair's arrogant butt anymore.

She arrived at the men's Fifth Street shelter and parked in front of a brick wall with a large pair of graffitied, candy red lips. The gritty urban landscape was the opposite of her former workplace. Dirty concrete surrounded her without a tree in sight. Loud honking and raised voices assaulted her ears. She made sure to lock her car after she stepped out of her red sedan into what looked like the most neglected part of town.

Above her, the sun broke through an overcast sky, shedding a few rays of warmth onto her shoulders. Her mood lifted as she glanced up and down the street. She liked challenges. Who knew what today would bring?

The empty sidewalk was littered with discarded beer cans and liquor bottles. She wrinkled her nose as she stepped over empty condom packs and cigarette butts scattered over the concrete. A part of her felt as if she had swum over an underwater shelf that suddenly dropped off two miles beneath her.

I don't see the vampiric dealers that Deedee warned me about. They must be sleeping this time of day.

She glanced at her smart watch, it was eight thirty am. She was half an hour early. She walked past overflowing silver trash cans and a darkened, sleazy bar. A glowing erotic peep show sign sizzled in hot pink and buzzed like a swarm of mosquitoes.

In front of the shelter doors, a beast of a man in a camo sweatshirt leaned against the wall. With his hulking shoulders and dark impenetrable gaze, he reminded her of The Rock in his prime. She nodded at him. "Good morning." He remained unmoved and silent as she hurried into the shelter's door. As she entered, she was surprised to see that the glass was spotless and free of fingerprints.

She paused in the lobby and scanned the shelter's interior. The one story building had a patchwork feel, as if it had been a library at one time with an attached community center. This was definitely different than working in Silicon Valley with its bright soaring mega structures of glass and steel.

CENTIEN Corporation was a city within a city, powered by the sun. A monolithic structure of shining metal, interspersed with waves of living greenery in between the solar panel grids. Glass elevators rose to the sky, while vehicle traffic hovered below on curving rails. Worldwide communication hubs with data traveling faster than light were embedded in the highly secure technological core. Before her, the run-down shelter had all the appeal of a World War II bomb shelter, circa 1970.

"Sigh." At least there wasn't bright orange shag carpeting.

The inside of the school-like facility was painted a pleasant sand color and populated with repainted second hand furniture. Bright blues and crimson reds combated the bulky furniture's mismatched shabbiness. A radiator next to a large window creaked as it dispelled watery vapor into the air. The humid heat suffused a large spider plant, its white and green narrow strap-shaped leaves basking in the faint November light. The worn imitation brick linoleum floor was freshly mopped, but curling up at the edges. 

At a beat up front desk, probably donated from some library, a handsome young man wearing a black hoodie and worn jeans, bobbed his head to music only he could hear. He stopped typing on his laptop when she opened the door and looked up. She relaxed when he smiled and pulled his headphones off, over a halo of dark hair. "Hi, I'm Josiah, but people call me Joe. How can I help you?"

"Hi Joe, I'm Evelyn Simmons. I'm the new assistant cook." She smiled hesitantly.

"You're the new hire?" His smile broadened showing straight, white teeth.

Encouraged, she nodded. Her smile widened to match his.

"Wow—we hit the jackpot." He held out his hand. "Hi Evelyn, we're glad to have you here."

"Please, call me Evie. Is Deedee here?" She craned her neck and looked down the hallway. She could see why Dee had insisted she come here. The staff was like a warm family.

"Lady Dee's at the Mayor's office, but she'll be back around noon. She asked me to help you settle in." He stood up. "I'll introduce you to Vince. He's out back in the kitchen. He raised his nose towards the kitchen and sniffed delicately. "Mm.. I think he's making ravioli today, or it could be lasagna." The tangy smell of basil and oregano caressed her nose. "I'll show you where to put your coat."

A fat, log-shaped creature moved at her feet. "Who's this?" She kneeled down and let an aging, mange-ridden dachshund sniff her hand. The wet nose of his pointy, whitened muzzle nuzzled her palm. The dog's tail slapped her hand like a licorice metronome as its butt shook with all its might.

"This is Alister. He's the shelter mascot. "Little guy had it rough out on the street. He belonged to one of the residents who passed away." Alister tickled her hand, checking for treats. The dog's earnest expression, along with his wiggling sausage-shaped body and glinting button eyes made her smile.

Joe looked towards the street. "What're you drivin', Evie?

"A red Toyota Corolla. It's parked down the road in front of the bar."

He turned to address the large man who'd been in front of the shelter. "Keep and eye on her car for me, Sampson?"

The well-built man saluted him with two fingers. "Sure thing, boss." The Polynesian giant helped himself to a Styrofoam cup of coffee, added a generous amount of cream, and went back outside to resume watching the street.

Evelyn followed Josiah down a short hallway and into the main dining room. "I help the other residents settle in and oversee our recreational program. During the day, the residents come here to hang out and stay warm, but they also need to keep busy." His warm voice hummed with enthusiasm. The mingled scents of garlic and basil and pasta sauce grew stronger.

Evelyn peeked into the dining area and relaxed as she absorbed the shelter's nurturing ambiance. Several people sat at card tables playing board games and cards. A few were sitting in comfy chairs reading or looking out the windows. "How may people come here each day?"

"Right now, this shelter houses around fifteen residents in various stages of drug rehab. For the general population, we serve coffee, juice, fruit, and pastries for breakfast since we don't have enough funds for three meals a day. For dinner, we serve about a thirty to fifty people. If I'm not around and you have any questions, ask Sampson. He's been here two years and knows the ropes." She passed through a set of black double doors that swung both ways and entered a large kitchen. The smell of warm cinnamon and sugar from the large commercial oven that was near the door engulfed her.

"Evelyn, meet your new boss, Vince Mac Hale ." A grizzled man his sixties, wearing a gray tuque, a red flannel shirt and a white culinary apron over faded blue jeans, was glazing multiple sheets of seventeen-by-eleven pans of golden pastry rolls. He was freshly showered and already starting to perspire. His generous belly was pushed up against counter over the belt of his jeans. He was muscular, but some of that muscle had turned to fat giving him a jolly Santa Clause appearance. Evelyn suppressed a smile. The chef possessed the build of an aging strip club bouncer and the fashion sense of a deep sea crab fisherman.

"Hey Evelyn, welcome aboard." Wiping his hand on a dish towel, Vince shook her hand. "We go on a first name basis here."

"Nice to meet you, Vince. I prefer Evie." Are those fresh made cinnamon rolls I smell?

He smiled. "I just popped a fresh batch in the oven. I'm glad you started today—I could use the help. How about making five large salad trays and doing the vegetables? He nodded towards a pile of leafy greens and a pile of garden vegetables.

"I think I can manage." Evelyn rolled up her sleeves. She washed the lettuce and then placed the greens into a salad wringer. The act of cooking soothed her nerves. Grabbing a large chopping knife, she used a back-and-forth rocking motion to deftly mince the onions.

Vince nodded approvingly. "You know how to handle a knife. How much culinary experience do you have?"

"I worked at the food stalls during outdoor concerts when I was sixteen." She slid the chopped onions to the side of the block with the knife blade and went to work on the next batch.

"That's all I need to know. You have the culinary experience. Whatever you don't know, I can teach you." Vince opened an industrial size can of pinto beans. "We have four and a half hours before we serve dinner. Let's get ahead and prep tomorrow's chili." He frowned as he looked out the window. A long haired hippie was panhandling close to the shelter. "Did that degenerate bother you when you walked by him?" He nodded in the direction of the loitering hippie.

"No, he didn't say anything to me." The onions made her eyes tear.

I'm not going to be CENTIEN's new Marketing Associate.

The painful reality that her dream was over, and broken into in thousand sharp shards, returned.

The knife chopped faster. She inhaled to keep from crying.

Vince narrowed his eyes as he watched her chop the onions at a manic pace.

Tat-tat-tat-tat-tat.

"Ouch!" She missed the onion and sliced her finger. Blood squirted from her cut and stained the white onions. Tears streamed from her eyes.