The mud on his boots was thick, thick and slimy. His pants were tucked into the tops of his boots at mid-calf, duct-tape sealing the boots to the jeans for the frequent instances when the mud got deeper than the boots got high. The faded denim hung loose around his bony hips and streaks of dirt changed the color to a dull brownish hue. The old t-shirt he had on was equally the worse for wear and was covered by an orange reflective vest, the two bright yellow vertical stripes on the vest clashing with the dull worn look of the rest of his wardrobe. On his head was a rust colored hard-hat covered haphazardly in stickers from the various jobs he had worked over the years. Each sticker a badge of honor, like the campaign ribbons on a soldiers uniform. The hard hat itself was spattered with mud and concrete, a testament of the long hard days it had seen. Under the hard hat was a faded blue bandanna which was wrapped around the sweat band. Out from the back of the hard hat hung a pony tail of brown hair streaked with grey, thin and ratty and held together with a rubber band. The face of the man was guant and craggy, deep lines creasing across his forehead and from the corners of his eyes. Despite his world weary appearance, his demeanor was upbeat and friendly. Approaching the door of the restaurant he stomped his feet a few times to remove the excess mud. At the counter he ordered fish and chips to go, then moved to the side and waited patiently for his lunch to be prepared. It was his second month of consecutive employment after two years with no job and he was hungry, hungry to work. The long days, the deep mud, the uncertainty of the next job, he did not mind. It was all he knew and all he could do. He was happy and a thin smile was on his lips.