by Shawn D. Brink
Just look at her. I know we’re high up, but you have sharp eyes. I’m sure you see her. She’s the one wearing the designer pant suit and texting who knows what to who knows who.
Did you see the way she glanced at that other one? You might have missed it. She did it quickly, almost too fast to notice.
You see the other one right? He’s the one lying against the building, trying to keep warm by holding that homemade cardboard sign between him and the wind.
I don’t like the way she looked at him. I’ve seen that look before. She sees him as something less. She shouldn’t look at him that way, as if money makes you better than those with none.
Look, she just did it again, glancing at him in between her texts. There’s definitely condescension there.
Tell you what, let’s balance out their roles. You go for her phone, and I’ll do what I do best.
The one with the cardboard sign wondered if he was dreaming when two hawks swooped down out of nowhere. One grabbed little Miss Park Avenue’s phone right out of her hand. Screaming, she looked up just in time for something to drop onto her brow from the second bird. It landed with some force, splattering across her forehead before dripping down her face and onto those dry-clean-only clothes.
He hid behind the sign so she wouldn’t see him laughing. He didn’t laugh too much these days, unless something struck him as particularly humorous.
Peeking over the sign’s rim, he watched her run away, cursing and scraping globs of bird crap off her face. He noticed that others were looking at her with disgust, the same way she’d looked at him just moments earlier.
Isn’t it interesting how sometimes crap falls on those that don’t deserve it. And other times, it lands just where and when it’s needed most.