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I step out of the convenience store to a fresh early morning.
It's cold enough to see my first breath.
I walk to my green Chrysler and see a bummy looking man
riding along on an old light blue bike,
two baskets, one in the front, one in the back-
both overflowing with bottles and cans.
He lays his old bike diagonally in the middle of two parking spots,
walks swiftly passed me, on route toward a trash bin.

With a plastic bag in hand he rummages through the trash,
collects a few bottles,
moves from trash bin to trash bin,
delves through the garbage.

Five feet away a woman pumping gas into her lavish SUV stares like he is an animal.
Does the nomadic man care?
Does anyone even care that he's smiling?
He seems wise.
Maybes he's an existentialist.
Does he enjoy how he lives?
He roams around riding his old blue bike,
unbothered by the world amongst him.
The only intention I see he has is to live.

But what does he do with the change?
Does he buy food?
Or just save up for some cheap booze?
He strolls by my car.
He knows what he needs.
His face is scruffy, but blissfully staring.
He holds a plastic bag filled to the top with bottles in his left hand,
and with his right hand, which is covered by a thin, old, navy blue glove,
he gives me a wave.
I wave back to the wanderer.
We then turn away and go about our own business.
Tying the bottles to his bike, and hopping on,
he pedals away in his beat up sneakers.

Learn more about this author, Nate Desfosses.
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