July 27, 2013
A four year old,
her black and white striped t-shirt dress plastered to her thin, pasty legs,
stood in the soft rain, sucking on a miniature candy cane leftover from
Christmas past. The slick face glanced at me, desperate to portray her unreliable
future. Her little sister, a mirror image of the bigger one, babbled
incoherently, while I peeked under damp towels and shower curtains, protecting
one woman’s junk from saturating showers. Only a few brave souls were willing
to canter across the busy road to meander around in a cave-like garage and sort
thru the sale items. Scavenged quite a number of glassware to double as vases
for my best friend’s new flower business.
The unfamiliar
neighborhood had quickly segued gone from impressive acre, well-manicured lawns
to tired vehicles, biodegrading in the side yard. Saggy porches and lean-to
mailboxes hinted at indifferent poverty.
A sizable mother,
grateful for the $1.35 I handed over, puckered her meddled nose in the
direction of the darkening sky and sighed with utter despondency. How on earth
was she to trade her wet towels, broken baskets, frayed and soiled men’s
t-shirts and utensils tossed out with begrudging apathy.
The urchins waved
their sticky now white candy canes goodbye as I crossed between the cars to sit
in my dry car, grateful for the well-endowed life I lead.
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