Paradise Buffet: a Chinese restaurant. Every cook Mexican, every one of them undocumented. Cheap, hard workers. Juan understood the concept, and wouldn’t be one to complain since the money was all he cared about. The faster he made money, the quicker he could pay back Manuel. Once he did that, he’d be with his family again. He imagined they could get their own place, in a nicer part of town. Juan could learn better English, get a better job. And the best part of all, they would be as far away from that wrinkled cunt of a mother-in-law as possible. So he’d keep his mouth shut, nod happily, and do his fucking job.

“What’s up, cousin? You having fun yet?” Manuel said as he dumped raw chicken into a wok. The steam engulfed his face.

“I’ve never seen anybody eat like these people. A bunch of spoiled hogs. Remember when we used to dig through the dumpsters together?” Juan would never forget it. Him and his cousin, too young to work, hungry. And as hungry as Juan was now, the thought of eating that Chinese slop that the Americans were gorging themselves with made his stomach churn. With his first check, he’d cook enchiladas. Chicken and sour cream. Black beans and rice. His mouth watered and he nearly drooled on himself.

“I told you, man. It didn’t used to be like this. It was just me and Consuelo,” Manuel said, pointing to an even fatter Mexican across the room. “Now, we can barely keep up with these fucking pigs. Whatever Mr. Chan changed in his recipe, it’s like magic, man.”

Just then, Mr. Chan stormed into the kitchen, his face stretched tight across his skull. His mouth was a straight line, razor thin, and his eyes pierced Juan. “Get outside. More tables need cleaning.” He turned on Manuel. “You say your cousin good worker. He lazy Mexican, just like the rest. I fire you both!”

Juan couldn’t make himself look at the little Asian man. His eyes found a stain on the floor and they stayed there. He saw Manuel’s feet shuffling nervously.

The fading Chinese gibberish and the quick retreating footsteps let Juan know it was safe. He looked at Manuel with an open mouth. His mustache twitched.

Manuel shrugged. “He’s a mother fucker, but he pays. I think you should get out there, cousin.”

Juan dumped the dishes in the sink to the displeasure of the squat, elderly man standing there, whose hands looked like that of a body found floating in the river. Juan tried to smile, but the man’s stare melted it.

Juan grabbed his cart and pushed it toward the door. He looked over at Manuel who was stuffing an eggroll into his mouth while he cooked. Bits of fried flakes drifted into his wok along with drips of his sweat.

“Come get one of these while the chink isn’t looking.”

Juan’s stomach did a back flip at the thought of sustenance, but he wouldn’t dare eat that food. He shook his head. “Let’s stop by the store tonight after work. I’ll cook us some food, just like I did back home, yes?”