The day before the festival, Miguel was invited by the student council to their university to get a feel for what he has to work with. He closed the café for the next two days in order to give his fullest to the event. Where he was led to was the courtyard of the school, beyond the stretch of the gates and the parking lot – a large, rectangular, brick-laden ground.

“Move it Tiffany!” a student screamed.

“Yeah yeah, gimme a minute!” Another student, presumably Tiffany, yelled back.

“They’re competitive, aren’t they?” Miguel said, a bit afraid of the competitive energy every student seemed to exude.

“Yeah. The orgs really love doing this every year.” The student council president explained, letting a bit of his pride seep out.

“Huh.” Miguel scoped out the situation a bit more. Students carrying around toy guns, painting signs on a piece of cardboard, arranging exhibits – whatever Miguel could think of, someone was already doing it. “Is there, like, a prize for the best booth?”

“Not really,” the president replied, “The student council just gives them a certificate for being the best one – that’s it. No money or anything.”

“They just love doing it huh?” Miguel said.

“Mhm.” The president affirmed.

“I can somehow relate.” Miguel mumbled.

The group walked towards the stand where Miguel was set to flip his burgers. In front of him was a white covered tent just in case the rain wanted to make his buns and patties extra soggy. Under it were three wooden tables, two of which were lined up next to each other for the stove, cash box and ingredients, and one on the back end of the tent, which Miguel could see as sort of a platform for rest and preparation.

“Looks great!” Miguel complimented, thinking about where he would place his ice box full of burger meat.

“I’m glad you like it. Also, don’t worry about your burgers going bad, we were able to borrow a fridge from the canteen.” The president said.

“Oh man, thank you so much!” Miguel exclaimed, chucking the worries about his ice box.

However, looking around, he could see a wonderful array of Halloween colors. Dashes of dark violet and midnight black for the background, and sprinkles of orange to complement the darkness. Pumpkins, black cats, moons, and witches littered around the campus.

“A bit plain-looking,” Miguel forced out a laugh, staring at the white and beige colors that littered his booth – not at all in the spirit of the spooky holiday, “Maybe I should decorate it a bit.”

“Don’t worry, we had that covered as well.” The president said to ease Miguel’s inferiority. “Rather, Joseph’s got it.”

Miguel followed the direction of the president’s gaze and there he was – Joseph running, clutching a large, rectangular wooden board under his right arm. He was wearing black shirt and a pair of jeans stained with orange and violet paint. Each step made his ponytail bob up and down, and the plywood to wobble side-to-side.

“Hey,” Joseph paused for a bit, panting to catch his breath, “Thanks for waiting. I woke up late, and didn’t have enough time to shower.”

“Or change your clothes,” One of the student council volunteers raised, eyeing the patches of paint on his garments.

Joseph waved his arms, dismissing the lack hygiene and letting it float into the air. “Anyway, here.” He turned the board over, and let the majesty and workmanship do the talking.

The background was a gradient of violet-to-black with a giant, orange pumpkin was painted smack dab in the middle of the board of wood. ‘MIGUEL’S CAFÉ’ was written in front of the board with a cute, bouncy, and yellow font, complimenting the dark colors in the background, imparting that the fright and dread Halloween came with was also the source of its joy and playfulness.

“I planned on adding a moon, a black cat, and some bats, but the sign might become a bit crowded.”

“Where’s the table cloth?”

“The volunteers are on their way to the tailor to get some shit, don’t worry.” Joseph reassured everyone.

“Oh! Why not add bats and other Halloween-y things to the table.”

“Great idea! Hold on.” Joseph whipped out his phone with his left hand and typed out a message. “There, I told them to get some extra cloth, some felt, and fabric glue.”

Miguel could not say anything. He was just, overwhelmed by the kindness these young adults showed him, even though he was only a middle-aged man who agreed to make burgers. The gesture was enough to warm his heart and shed a tear.

Joseph noticed the large man’s impending waterfall, “Miguel, we can take over designing the booth. You’re gonna need the rest for tomorrow.”

“No, I want to help out. Really.”

“Don’t worry about it, I feel like it’s gonna be hectic for you tomorrow.”

“There has to be something I can do.”

“Rest.”

“Come on.”

“We’ll get mad.” Joseph said, pouting a bit to let Miguel know he meant it

Miguel thought about it for a second before letting the chance of helping out go. “Alright then. Just promise me, if I can help with anything at all, let me know.”

“We will, we will.” Joseph said nonchalantly, although Miguel felt the full-sincerity behind those words.

Miguel turned around and walked towards the exit. As he reached the gates of the university, he stretched for a bit, putting his hands on his waist and pounding his back, trying to ease the pain. He finally admitted that they were right – he probably needed the rest. The café has run his back a bit, with the amount of standing up and bending down he had to do. He thought about how he should really put his pans in a more convenient place – the onset of his thirties finally made him experience all the stress he put on his body.

“Wait!” Joseph yelled.

Miguel turned around, ignoring the slight cricks his back gave out.

“Actually…” Joseph continued, gauging what Miguel would look like in a werewolf costume.