He was so at peace, lying on his sheet of grimy cardboard, watching the traffic inch by on the crowded freeway. I stared on at him from inside my car, childish jealousy building inside me like a snake soon to strike. I squeezed my fists around the steering wheel until my knuckles turned white. What a bastard, I thought. For him to be so low on the totem pole but to still smile in spite, irked me so, a sting so intense, like a thorn in the thumb; I turned away. What a bastard he is, I thought.
*
He was so content, sunglasses on his face, well-oiled hair slick and sophisticated looking atop his expensive head. He tapped his thumb on the steering wheel in sync with the beat of the music playing inside his posh car, eyes focused on the stagnant traffic in front of him. I lay back on my cardboard and crossed my feet, still watching. I wondered what path he chose for himself, what he did to deserve such riches. Was he a doctor? A heart surgeon? A children's heart surgeon I bet. Probably saved a million lives, with a beautiful wife, three happy kids, a beautiful home, a pool, and a puppy I bet. Done much more than me I bet, tons more; I turned away.
*
Traffic is a bitch. Such a stubborn bitch really. I glanced back over at the dirty man beside the street. I thought of all my conquests, my achievements. My house, my business, and my fortune; yet I know I didn't stare at the world with such blatant delight on my face as this man. What could this grubby bastard possibly have that I don't? I snickered to myself and turned away to gaze back at the motionless traffic in front of me. He could have nothing you don't, I thought to myself, how he could have anything you want?
*
He is quite handsome indeed. Bet he's got lots of money in his fat wallet; lots and lots. Bet he's got a nice big house to go home to too; real nice. Bet his kids are angels; bet his wife's a model. I turn away and catch my reflection, briefly, in a large broken glass shard. My face is dark, streaks of dirt as my camouflage, perfectly blending in with the garbage that surrounds me. I rub my face, only to add more filth. What could he have that I don't? A chuckle escapes me. Everything, I thought, he has everything that I don't.
*
I turned up the music to distract my ridiculous thoughts of the dirty man. I didn't know why he bothered me so. It was people like him that gave America the bad name it got really; lazy, incompetent, and a drug addict I'm sure. I wondered what happened to him, what his story was. Why was he here? How does one really end up with nothing, no processions, and no place to turn? I really can't imagine, I thought, as a slow smile spread across my face. When one has homes in every state and several countries these things become very hard to fathom. I tapped my thumb to the beat of the song coming through the speakers and lightly mumbled the words. No, I thought, one really can't imagine.
*
My stomach grumbled, loud enough I was sure the expensive man heard it as he threw me a quick dismissive look shortly after. I patted it as if to quiet it down. It was getting to be that time again; to rummage through trash and beg, throw away my pride to score a quick bite. As I began to rise to my feet, thoughts floated back to a time when I would think to rather die than beg for a meal much less rummage through garbage for one. My children, my wife; what would they think of me now? They would be ashamed of me I'm sure, as they should be. I am a disgrace to the name daddy, husband, letting grief cripple me so. My knees cracked as I finally stretched to full height. I looked at the sky.
*
The song ends and so does my brief happiness. I glance back over to see what the dirty man is up to. I scoff in spite, his eyes raised towards the sky. Gradually the man starts to sway, arms moving upwards to point to the heavens. I scoff again; surely the man is having some kind of fit due to whatever drug he was on. A loud honk rings out behind, reeling me quickly back into present time, as hours seemed to have passed while watching the dirty man's episode on the side of the street, although truly it had just been a few minutes. With a glare to the woman behind me, obviously in dire need of getting to her baking class or grubby kids soccer game, I pulled up close as I could to the car in front of me who indeed had moved several feet ahead, all the while my mind had left the inside of my car and stood beside the man instead, staring and swaying in sync.
