I’m walking down the alley on my way to the post office. It’s the first time I’ve been outside since my aborted attempts at going to class on Saturday, and I’m enticed by the long, golden rays of sun that warm the sides of the neighboring apartment buildings.Â
As I get close to the end of the alley, I see a binner working on pouring the dregs out of a 12-pack of Heineken bottles. His cart is full, and he’s minding his own business. He’s grizzled and gray, but relatively clean. He seems sober, not strung out like so many others who come up and down the alley. I have my camera in hand, but something tells me not to shoot him, but to smile at him instead. He was surprised that I acknowledged him; you could see it all over his face.Â
“Hey, lady. How you doin’ tonight?” I told him I was well, and kept walking on my way. Just as I’m about to cross the street, I hear him call after me.Â
“You stay pretty, you hear?”
I thanked him and kept walking.
