Nolan

The smell of fresh concrete fills my lungs as I pace the perimeter of today's job, checking the edges for any imperfections. The sun beats down on my neck, and I can feel sweat trickling down my back beneath my T-shirt. It's barely ten in the morning, but the temperature's already climbing into the eighties.

"Looking good, boss," Marco calls from where he's smoothing out the last corner. "We'll be ready to stamp in about twenty."

I nod, squinting ...