“Did you hear, the winning ticket was bought right here, in town.”

            “Where’d you hear that,” JJ asked.

            “Facebook.”

            JJ and Carl were in back of the bagel bakery looking across a scrubby lot at kids skateboarding in a little park.  It was dusk and the skateboarders were becoming shadows.  Their boards banged against the railings and concrete steps as the kids did their moves in that not-trying way of theirs.  They wore wool hats in the summer, left on from the winter, six months previous.  Carl smoked a cigarette and JJ sat on an overturned bucket. Inside, the oven was warming and the huge kettle getting close to a boil.  Almost time to bake 194 dozen bagels.

            “I bought a ticket,” JJ said to the sky.  The bright orange of a sunset was just visible over the trees beyond the park.  Like an explosion, right over there, JJ thought.

            “Dude, did you check it?”

            “No,” JJ said.  “When was the drawing?”

            “Dude, seriously?”

            “I never do the lottery.  It was a whim.”

            “Do you even still have the ticket?”

            “It’s on the fridge.”

            “The drawing was two days ago.”

            They heard a buzzer go off as the oven reached 550 degrees and they both sighed.  Carl flicked his cigarette away and they cast one more look at the darkening park with the rolling and clattering skateboards before heading into the steamy cave of a kitchen.  They donned aprons, soon to be soaked with sweat and kettle water infused with the cornmeal from 97 boards of bagels.  The cornmeal is sprinkled on the boards so the bagels don’t stick and it gives the bagels that awesome gritty bottom.  The bagels are dumped into the kettle for boiling along with the cornmeal that will turn the water into yellowish gruel over the next few hours.  The bagels are boiled, or polished as JJ imagines, in the water until they float and are fished out with a huge strainer on a stick.  They are dumped, steaming and floppy onto rows of four-inch wide planks and arranged, bottoms up, in lines of six.  Then they are put into a monster oven with five rotating shelves, each holding six dozen bagels.  Half way through the shelves are stopped and the bagels flipped by grasping the ends of the planks, one at a time, and deftly rotating them so the bagels land bottoms down for finishing.  This takes practice and needs to be done quickly.  Carl can do it all bare-handed but JJ, newer to bagel baking, uses two pairs of latex gloves.  The latex irritates his fingers, leaving a flaky rash behind.  But it’s better than the heat and he can move quicker.

            Carl said, “Dude, I’ll get started if you want to run home and check the ticket.”

            “You’re a good man,” JJ said.  “But let’s do this then we’ll go together.”

            “If you win, you’ll take care of me, right.  I got you this awesome job.

“And he has all this money he won in the lottery,” Lila said.  She sat on a bench with Zeke near the farmer’s market watching the springtime shoppers with their bags of asparagus and rhubarb.  Lila and Zeke were on a lunch date.  Zeke called it a “midday stroll” in his ironic way.  When Lila had asked if their “midday stroll” was really a date, Zeke said, “Too much pressure if we call it a date.  Besides, aren’t we above all that?”  Zeke’s real name was William.

Zeke asked, “Doesn’t it say in the Bible that money is the root of all evil?”

“It says a lot of things in the Bible.  Let’s not talk about the Bible.”  Lila watched a furtive little woman snatch some dried fruit from a box when the purveyor’s back was turned.  The woman was chewing as she moved on behind the stalls.

“Let’s just say that money can alter your perspective.  For the negative.”

“But he seems to be getting more positive,” Lila said.  “He bought this farm and he’s brought in these foresters from the college to help restore it to native forest.”

“Why are we even talking about this guy, what’s his name.”

“His name’s JJ and I’m sorry.  Let’s walk.”

They walked together from the farmer’s market and sat outside for coffee.  People walked by in work outfits and second-hand hipster duds.  There was a group of college kids in flip flops and shorts, laughing and window shopping.  Spring was finally here.  And then down the sidewalk came JJ carrying a shovel over his shoulder like a musket, the spade end up in the air.  It gleamed in the sun and Lila saw it was brand new.

“That’s the guy,” Lila said.  “That’s JJ.  With the shovel.”

JJ walked right up to their table.  “Can you believe, all that shit in the barn and there wasn’t a single shovel?”

“This is Zeke,” Lila said.  “Be polite now and acknowledge everyone.”

JJ seemed to notice Zeke for the first time.  “Well, hello William,” JJ said.

“Hello Jason.”

Lila asked, “Do you guys know each other?”

“Lila was telling me you’ve become a farmer,” Zeke said.

“Well, you can see I carry my own shovel.”

Lila said, “How do you two know each other?”

 “Oh, we go way back,” Zeke said.  Then to JJ, “Well you know what they say.  ‘No Farms, No Food’.  That’s a lot of responsibility.”

“I like to say, ‘No Farms, No Farmer’s Daughters’.”

“Funny.”  But Zeke was not smiling.  “Always so funny.”

“I know,” JJ said.  “Lila, you be nice to William now.  He’s very sensitive.”

When JJ walked away, Lila said, “What was that all about?”

Zeke paused, staring after JJ.  “We both dated this girl once, her dad was a farmer.  Back when I was known as William.”  They watched the shovel move away, bobbing and weaving above the other walkers, marking JJ’s progress up the crowded sidewalk.  “It didn’t end well.”