A woman I pass in the crosswalk plucking dollar bills from one hand where they’re wadded together like a used tissue or a head of cabbage.
A Teenager skateboarding shirtless in the dark. Something hurtled in my direction lands far enough away that I’m confident it wasn’t thrown at me. He bends down and as he passes, plucks something else from the ground – an anti-war protest sign – tosses it into the street. More signs scattered on the ground and planted among the shrubs.
A truck parked outside of The Gap, the back door open. A truckload of boxes. A portable conveyor belt leading from the rear of the truck into the store. A dozen small boxes lined up on the conveyor belt from the truck, only as far as the sidewalk. The driver standing in the street, barcode scanner held idle beside him. Another person moving around in the back of the truck. The Gap employees standing inside, staring at each other’s feet.