I am walking in the middle of the night and there is no one else around except as person across the street.
I can hear them talking to themselves. It is too dark for them to see me. I can see them, their shadowy form is caught and struck by the very faint light of the street lights above them. They are moving slowly, limping slightly. They stop every so often to pick something of the ground, falling from an open bag, with contents overflowing out of it. I wonder why… the zipper is broken, I see the glint of the zipper, and the twist tie that is poorly fastened to it. It seems to have been engineered in a hurry.
The person has a slight limp in their left leg, I can see that because they are dragging it, as if chained to something they drag their leg ever so slightly. It drags behind them, painting a picture of struggle in the sandy dirt which is characteristic to the area that I am in right now, which I cannot remember the name of right now.. is it… New Mexico… they cough.. and they turn their head. They have not realized the fallen contents of the bag. Wrappers. They do not appear to have any food in them, they are paper, likely saved as fire starters.
They don’t seem to notice.
The bag is falling apart more now, there is a sleeve of a long sleeve shirt falling out of the bag, the person, can’t tell if they are male or fema…
They curse. They are struggling with the bag. They throw it on the ground, cursing its very existence, the fall over crying, and sit on the sidewalk, head cast into their lap. They do not know anyone is watching them.
Misery Loves Their Own Company 