When he started, the café had been a symbol of momentum. It wasn’t glamorous, sure, but it gave him a plan—a way out of his parents’ basement, a chance to start saving for college, a sliver of independence. At the time, weekends had felt electric.
Long lines, fast tables, stuffed tip jars. He’d go home after a double shift, collapse into bed with aching legs, and smile at the folded bills in his pocket. But that was nearly a year ago. And somewhere along the way, the buzz had dulled.