"Just my hands, sir. And my back."

That got the foreman's attention. He chewed the end of his pen, scanning the kid from boots to cap. The boy stood with his weight forward, knuckles scabbed, jaw set. Not scared. Not cocky either. Just there , vibrating slightly, like a fence post the wind has just stopped shaking.

"No, sir."

"Tools?"

He felt ready .

But he also said see you tomorrow .

The foreman didn't say good job . He said you're an idiot—you'll throw your back out by Friday .