He rests in a cheap vinyl recliner, his eyelids surgically stitched shut. He’s kept alive by a complex series of tubes and machines that supply nutrients while removing waste.
Aside from the loud occasional belch, his shallow breathing is the only noise he’ll ever make. And then when the time comes, he will provide whatever his caregivers ask of him, be it an organ, a fluid, or maybe even a limb.
He is the working man. He is always on duty. He is a valuable, vital yet unknowing contributor to the betterment of society.
And he is one of millions.
The Weekday One Hundred 