Out of the large, slightly dirty window of our hotel room in Los Angeles I can see the street below me. It’s five o’clock on a Friday and it’s as busy as you would expect it is. Cars are honking, people are passing each other on the street, everyone excited to get home and start their weekend.
Everyone except for a guy in the light blue T-shirt pushing a shopping cart, doing his best not to bother anyone. He is keeping his head down, almost like he’s ashamed of himself. The shopping cart probably holds all of his belongings. I squint my eyes and discover a poofy winter coat, a couple of empty beer cans and a single boot in the cart. I wonder what his story is. Where is he going? Where is he going to sleep tonight? Did he lose his job and got kicked out his apartment? Did he, at some point, have dreams and ambitions like most people in LA?
There is a tall girl was freshly curled hair that passes him, tiptoeing on high heels. I see how she reaches in her purse and nonchalantly drops a couple of bills in his boot, without interrupting her step or looking at the man at all.
He stops, looking back with both hands resting on his cart. He wants to say something, I can see it, but the girl in the high heels is gone.
Photo taken by Israel Sundseth (via Unsplash.com)