Monday, Monday

Monday night. Bin night.

And they step into the dark. I hear them coming. With their shopping carts. All their belongings packed in there.

Searching. Hoping. For half a bottle of wine on the bottom of my bin. For a jacket I don't use anymore. For some Chinese left from the take-away.

They sleep in the streets. In the rain. They ask for some coins. For some food.
They're so many. And they're everywhere.

And I wonder.
How they get there.

I wonder.
About their American dream.
Pushing a shopping cart.
Sleeping in the rain.
Celebrating
Monday night. Bin night.