There is no street parking near my apartment building. I have to park several blocks away.
One day I was walking out to my car when my eyes chanced upon a piece of litter.
Nothing angers me quite like litter. People who blithely toss trash into their neighborhood are so careless and selfish. I’m tired of picking it up.
The discarded thing lay on the sidewalk. It was a tiny notebook–one of those cheap notebooks people jot quick notes in.
I stooped to pick it up.
I had resumed walking, and was searching for a trashcan, when all at once it occurred to me that somebody might have accidentally dropped this tiny notebook.
I turned it over to examine the front and back cover. No name. I opened to the first page. A couple of sentences had been carefully written in pencil.
I love my uncle Ernie. I love how he makes me laugh and how he makes pancakes for me and my sister.
All of the pages that followed were blank.
Oh wow, I thought, this isn’t quite what I expected. Evidently a young person had begun to write some happy thoughts. Perhaps it was an essay for school. Or the beginning of a journal. The tiny notebook had probably fallen out of a pocket. A worried somebody would probably be looking for it.
My course of action was obvious. I turned around and retraced my steps. I sought the exact spot where I had found the dropped notebook. I carefully set what I had first thought was litter back on the sidewalk, so that it could await its destiny.
What else could I do?
As I finally approached my car, I came upon an unusual amount of trash by the sidewalk. A small heap of garbage had gathered between some dying bushes. I fought off my anger. Why can’t people control themselves?
There was spoiled food, discarded cardboard boxes, bottles and cans. The smell was unbearable.
Then I noticed a sleeping bag behind the pile. And someone inside it. A young man with leaves in his hair was bundled up, his face hidden.