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“Medical Center,” a robotic voice echos over the speaker as the metro hurls into the faint light of the station.

I exit the station around 8:30 AM just in time to stop at my favorite breakfast place: Walter Reed Medical Center. I enter the hospital through a heavy metal door adjacent to the Emergency Room entrance, as walking through the Emergency Room entrance itself to get to Cafe 8901 would be too brazen (but that hasn’t stopped me before).

Breakfast service ends in 20 minutes, so I need to move quickly and efficiently. I enter the queue behind an eclectic group of strangers–military personnel, nurses, physicians, and family members–and when it’s my turn I order a plate of regular eggs, two slices of bacon, and a biscuit and gravy. I make my way to the refrigerated drink section and grab a small bottle of apple juice. Then I scan the checkout queues and head in the direction of the shortest one.

“Good morning,” I say to the cashier in an attempt to fill the silence between us. It didn’t work; I should’ve stayed quiet. I open the foam clamshell box bearing the sustenance for my day. I eagerly stare at the card reader as the cashier tallies up my items; I’m waiting for the total to appear on the screen.

*$4.20.*

My government-subsidized breakfast has done it again! I dart to the condiments counter where I dispense a plastic fork and grab a packet of iodized salt, then I carefully assemble my somewhat-liquid belongings into a plastic bag and exit through the back of the cafeteria.

I detour from the sidewalk, taking a dirt path that cuts through a field of grass, a visual reminder that many people have already walked this same path. My concrete fortress grows closer.