Shopping cart lady
Carts are not always found alone. Most carts, unless they move on their own when we’re not looking, need the help of a few accomplices to be freed from their corrals.
An interesting personage pushes a cart my way. I’m waiting to turn out of a parking lot. I have pulled into where pedestrians expect to cross.
She’s wearing a shapeless red dress and a blue apron, maybe. I don’t look very closely. My impression is of bright colors. And of hair.
Her hair bushes, billows out into a messy sphere, and it’s that peculiar color of red that says it wasn’t come by honestly. Or perhaps it was.
I can’t see this shopping cart lady, with hair into another state, getting her hair colored.
She waits patiently for me for me turn, to get out of her way, but I have nervous visions of the shopping cart lady getting mad at me blocking her, muttering to herself and BAM!, slamming into the side of my precious silver car.
Two young boys pile up behind her. I don’t know if they’re with her.
But she’s patient, as I am not patient with her. I judge her on her wild appearance.
But she is setting a cart free.
I like the sort of mock ethical moment at the end–she is better than me because she, at least, is liberating carts while I sit safely in my bourgeois. nice