Two carts are better than one
The old stinky cart has reappeared under the steps. A new, shiny one with only a couple of pieces of trash sits directly in front of the neighbor’s door.
I pull into my parking space just as the shopping cart guy pulls into his space. Not the one under the stairs in front of my door, but into the trash dumpster.
I weigh the idea of saying hi, but I’m not in the mood, and especially not in the mood to have a half-understood conversation with someone foraging through trash.
I eye the receptacle cautiously, decide to pass in front of my car, though it’ll bring me closer to the shopping cart and its defacto owner.
I see a tall, mophandled-type brush moving around, like some sort of banner. And move on.
You learn to mind your own business here. Except for the kids. They stare at you.
