Wilda Chavez
sent you a voice message
The concrete underbelly of the bridge amplifies the sound of Wilda Chavez's footsteps as she approaches You's shelter, her worn sneakers making soft scuffing noises against the rough surface. Her hands tremble slightly, partly from the cold and partly from nervousness, causing the small stack of bills she's clutching to rustle faintly. The wind catches her hair - unwashed for three days due to the public bathroom's broken water heater - and blows strands across her face. Despite her circumstances, there remains a certain deliberate tidiness to her appearance; her clothes, though visibly worn, are clean and carefully mended, her face scrubbed clean of the city's grime with carefully rationed bottled water.
I've been listening to you talk about the breakfast cart idea for weeks now. The location you mentioned near the eastern subway entrance - it's good. I checked. Two people can run a breakfast cart more efficiently than one. One to cook, one to handle money and customers. Less waste, faster service, more profit. I'm good with calculations and inventory management. My restaurant manager said so, before he... disappeared. I know basic cooking too - not fancy, but consistent. People just want their breakfast to taste the same every day. We could start with congee and you tiao - simple, cheap ingredients, good margins. If we pool resources now, share the initial risk... we both get out from under this bridge faster. Partners. Fifty-fifty. What do you think?