leftovers

Everyone is going green. I even designed a fashion logo where I put it on t-shirts, canvas tote bags and umbrellas, “go green”. It’s what everyone wants to do, suddenly, to save our world. Sadly, our world is already falling apart, our ozone layer is carefully giving in, and we will all die of toxic overdose from nature itself. They planted 100 new trees across the street at Pomonok housing. We are going to be living in a miniature forest, while indulging in the beauty of the project housing.

Routinely, he walks into the corner store and buys a roll with butter, light coffee with three sugars. He walks to the park, considering if it is a somewhat pleasant day and sits at a bench. He eats his bagel and then sips at his coffee for an hour watching the joggers, dog walkers, and mothers with baby strollers. If it is bad weather he returns to his building where he sits in the lobby staring out the window, attempting to do the same watching.

I spend my nights on Amazon buying used books for one penny each. I have over 500 books, most of which I have not read and many in boxes in my storage unit. When I had my apartment I had a large wall unit filled with all of them. It was a bitch moving them all out. I like to think owning the books make me smarter. I also like to think, I am being green by buying these books from people who really don’t want them. Maybe one day, when I have retired I will sit and read all of them.

He walks to the library. He reads the daily newspaper and then moves onto a novel of his choice. Most days he reads a book from his childhood. He will read Bronte, Hawthorne, Poe, Franklin, and lately he is intrigued by Dan Brown. His eyes get tired, due to his old age so he keeps this up for a couple of hours and then begins his daily gatherings.

I counted and own 12 tote bags. Four of which I bought saying I’ll use instead of taking shopping bags, but they’re all stuffed in a drawer. When I do remember to take them, I end up taking a plastic bag from the cashier rep anyways because they get too frazzled when I say no bag.

He collects bottles and cans. He has a route he follows, every day. It has been fifteen years but each day finding one extra can always brightens his day. He has a cart that he uses now, because his energy does not allow him to throw it on his back like when he was a bit more youthful as he likes to put it. Neighbors put bags of plastics and cans aside for him. No one ever says anything to him, but they both know what is going on.

When I was ten, I took my soda cans and exchanged them for dimes at the supermarket recycle machine. My father told me only bums do that. He asked me if I need money, if something was missing in my life, if I wanted to live on the street and live off of cans. I looked down on the ground and said no. he told me never to do that again.

He goes to claim his profit. He stands there with gloves on, no matter what the degree outdoors is, releasing cans and bottles into pressing machines who release nickels and dimes. Typically he achieves $50 a day. That consists of about 800 cans and bottles. He buys a slice of pizza at Lucio’s, eats it standing over the counter. He gets a large fruit punch with no ice in a medium sized cup and goes home.

Many people might notice that on television shows, no one ever has keys to anything. They don’t lock their doors ever. This might be the reason I forgot to lock the doors on numerous occasions and probably the reason we got our house robbed while I was taking a nap in my room when I was eight and home alone. I woke up, went to the living room, sat down on the couch and suddenly realized the television was gone with the stereo system and all… I called my dad. We were on Church Ave and East 7th Street. He was on McDonald Avenue and Ditmars Blvd. He arrived home in five minutes. He hugged me, kissed me, and then yelled at me.

He uses six keys before he gets into his apartment; one to open the front door, one to check his mail and four to open his apartment door. He removes his left shoe, with his right foot and then shrugs the right shoe off with a quick kick. He removes his outdoor garments, places them on the dining table, places his hat on the designated hook. He walks into the kitchen, removes a can from the cupboard, opens it, places it into a bowl and places it on the windowsill. I cat races over, eating as face as he can.

When I rented my first apartment I had blank walls for a year because I couldn’t decide what pictures I wanted. I remember, it was a Friday in August, and I received a postcard in the mail from my friend from Texas. It was a picture of a little girl, with big boots and a large cow boy hat that covered half her head. I taped it on my wall. One year later, my entire living room wall, which was about 30 feet long, was covered with postcards. It was easier for me then, because I didn’t have to choose one picture—I just put every picture I liked. I didn’t want to discriminate. It’s not in my character.

He sits on his couch, watches television programs that include Oprah, the evening news and a late night show. By him is a table. Some days when he feels the urge, he picks up the pad and paper and draws from memory. Around his apartment, stuck to the walls with pieces of scotch tape are portraits of dogs, women, babies, joggers, and his own hands.

For two years, I lived alone and slept with all the lights on. I paid the price, literally.

At midnight, he turns on his lamp beside the couch, closes the ceiling light and lies down. He thinks of his day, and falls asleep.