The old man moved like an apparition. People seemed not to notice him or his hellish cart as he pushed through the busy streets, constantly having to avoid pedestrians who attempted to walk through him, as if his physical presence was somehow unsubstantiated, not tethered tothe material realm. His maneuvers, however, were that of an urbanvet. He hardly broke stride when a cross-walk signaled "Don't,"seamlessly rerouting to the next street over, crossing there insteadso that his path zigged and zagged in a sequence of right angleswhile his cart rattled discordantly, hysterical over every crack.
He was peculiar and not just because of his encrusted cart or pace,which was brisk even by city standards, but by the very fact of his being in sunlight at all. Seeing him under blue skies was like spotting an angler fish in shallow waters. The effect having to dowith his all black getup. Donning both a heavy coat and pants, the old man was very much incongruent with the sultry weather, with the sea of shirts and shorts in which he swam. Plus, between his extreme lank and bone-white skin, he had an uncanny resemblance to the cryptkeeper. In his wake it was not uncommon for babies to cry and plants to whither, as if his very essence radiated decay.
His destination was a dumpster in the middle of an unfortunate littlepark located in the armpit of a congested intersection. The park wasa vacant quadrangle of land strewn with plastic and needles, the grass dead, the playground in disarray, missing swings and covered ingraffiti. The old man, however, seemed unaffected by the sullen gloom of it all. Without hesitation, he flung open the lid of the dumpster and began tossing the produce into it. Pineapples, cucumbers, Brussels sprouts, beets. One by one, each item was thrown into the rancid pit. The old man performing the act with the indifference of automation, the succession of ritual. Flounder, sausage, liver, veal.Every cut stripped from its packaging and chucked. The color of theraw flesh unmistakable against the azure sky.
When the cart was finally empty, for the process took some time, the old man peered over the greasy rim of the dumpster, into the abominable depths. He took a deep and terrible breath, filling his lungs with what must have been a truly putrid stench, holding the hot air inside for as long as he could bear. He remained this way for a spell, face over dumpster, starring into the steaming void, still and pensive, allowing the odor to wash over him like baptismal water. Then, once thoroughly fumigated, he put the lid back on the container and returned to his cart. Except now, he was different, his demeanor transformed. Instead of determined focus, he wore a stupid smile and distant gaze. Even his posture was slackened, as if the activity had afforded him a great peace. With an uncharacteristic calm and mosey, the old man shuffled from the park and down the street, until he hit a red light and disappeared around the corner. The rattle of his cart dissonant long after he passed, though it too was eventually swallowed by the city.
