Here’s a true story.

Nacho is an illegal immigrant–a squat forty year-old with a buzzed head, neat mustache and gold fillings. He works six days a week in a restaurant–a dishwasher during the week, and a line cook on the weekend. He is paid in cash. The last time he went home to see his wife she got pregnant, so he has a two year old child that he has never seen. It takes two or three thousand dollars each way to cross the border without identification, so his trips are infrequent.

His birthday was last week. The head chef/owner got him a cake, and there was going to be a celebration after close on Sunday. Halfway through the day one of Nacho’s relatives calls the owner’s cell phone to get ahold of him. His mother is dead. He was going to visit her in a couple months.

Nacho cries. He takes a short break. Then he finishes his shift.

There’s no celebration for his birthday. His coworkers pool money for him to send to his family. He offers a somber thanks and leaves. One of the busboys takes the cake because it’s his wife’s birthday on Monday.