A couple of things caught my eye yesterday.
On the drive to work, a red plastic plate folded in half to form the equivalent shape of a hard-shell taco wafted back and forth across the lanes as passing traffic created air currents. The bright crimson created a stark contrast to the gray asphalt. The half moon shape, reminiscent of a disembodied lipstick smile, floated on the slipstream until I passed it and sent it on a new path.
Then later in the day, I had to walk down the block to the bank. Having crossed a busy street without getting run down by a giant Ram pickup decorated with Earnhardt memorial stickers and a UT plate or a dented Escort sporting a half dozen magnetic ribbons driven by a grayhair on the way to the grocery, I made my way to the opposite curb. I had to do a double-take whenI spied something that was completely out of its normal milieu. A two-inch, white cardboard tube which was once filled with cotton lay perpendicular to the curb in the scattered gravel and road detritus. How did something that had once slipped into the most intimate area of a woman end up on a main thoroughfare? Was the hygienic exchange done in the front passenger seat of a passing Altima with the window rolled down so the trash could be tossed to the curb? Many questions come to mind.