Frank pushed his grocery cart, the one he had appropriated from the Safeway a few months back, through the park. The cart, loaded with a sleeping bag, a tarp, some warm clothing, a few rolls of toilet paper, and some snacks and a bottle of cheap booze he’d swiped from the convenience store, was hard to push through the dirt on the trail.
Frank could see that the sun was starting to set and he needed to find a suitable place to set up camp for the night. He was looking for a path less traveled, and one where he could find a relatively flat clearing, isolated enough to shelter him from the disparaging glances of other patrons of the city park.
It wasn’t Frank’s fault that he was homeless. How could he know that the economy would come close to collapse and that the factory he worked at would be shuttered? How could he know that his wife would leave him and his grown kids would shun him after the alcohol turned him from a good man to a drunken bastard? How could he know that he’d lose his house and find himself on the streets begging for scraps and morsels like a mangy dog?
But this was not the time to consider such weighty thoughts. He just needed a clearing where, away from prying eyes, he could unfurl the tarp, roll out his sleeping bag, crawl inside, and pray that he would at last find his lasting, quiet, endless peace.
Written for this week’s Thursday Photo Prompt from Sue Vincent.