Runaway

I watched a red shopping cart gallop across the parking lot. The wind with its fierce pushing tails. It veered head on into pat’s car – I almost got out to stop it, but then it veered left and missed. Diagonally through the rows of spaces, the wet pavement, the lines we all follow, I could hear the speed of those little red wheels, I could hear him scream “FREEEEAAAAA” as the cars around him dodged and stopped for the runaway.

And children were running in the rain. Children were holding hands in the rain. A white ugly purse should have melted away in the rain, turned brown and stained so she’d never wear it again.

Then the guy who collects the carts came out. Those neon vests, the handy cart robot. I thought about telling him about the runaway, but then figured they’d find him in the morning. I’ll leave him his night of wet freedom.

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