The day dragged on, each minute excruciatingly slow. Daniel's butt ached from staying in the same position for hours. By his calculations, it was at least lunchtime; noon had come and gone, and his stomach rumbled loudly enough to be heard from afar. He hadn't eaten anything in so long.
Matt Valez walked to the opposite counter and returned with a dining table, setting it up before him. It looked miserable, but in his state, it was perfect.
Just as Matt sat down, another figure arrived—Ricardo Valez, his father, rolling his wheelchair to the edge of the table. A moment later, a young lad with shining blond hair and a bright appearance came in, carrying a tray. For whatever reason, he didn't spare Daniel a glance, though he was certain the boy had seen him.
