One. Single person in line at grocery store with a bag of Kitty litter and a six pack of Miller. The clerk asks paper or plastic and she answers-"Siamese"

Two. Chairs left at the end of the driveway, waiting for the trash collector. One has the feet broken, the other has a hole in the seat. There is plywood in the bay window and no sign of a welcome mat.

Three. Sweaters in a pile by the door. One is his, two are hers. They are inside out. It is 20 degrees outside but the window is open because of insane college dorm heating ducts. Snowflakes build up on the window sill.

Four. Flat tires on the car in the yard. Not on the asphalt, but next to it. Kids play in it on sunny days and crows sit on top of it on rainy ones.

Five. Ladies waiting outside the fabric store. All have umbrellas save one, because it's sprinking. The one without, a dour little woman, has a clear plastic hair cover for herself. She stands off to the side, arms folded and lips pursed.

Six. Feet off the ground, attached to an electrical pole, is a T-shirt. It's hooked on a nail and beneath stands a red eyed little boy, shirtless and looking skyward.

Seven. People drawn on the sidewalk in white chalk. Two little girls stand off to the side and admire their work. A teenage boy rides past on his bike and laughs but the girls ignore him with backs turned and chins up.

Eight. Track lines on the arms of the stoner in the back of the city bus. There is a Metallica tattoo on his chest, half seen above his faded tank top. His eyes are shut, but his mouth is open. His snore is the only music he makes, but he is dreaming of electric guitars and groupies.

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