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An autumn evening, and there’s a man with a red hat sitting on a bench in Chinatown. On his lap, a black vinyl bag. In the bag is…
…the tupperware container that held the lunch lovingly prepared by his wife.
…a handgun, because he doesn’t know how much longer he can take it.
…a stack of well-fingered old Yachting magazines that he reads over his lunch hour.
…a bag of Depends adult diapers, because you can read the label through the plastic bags the store uses and it’s hard enough to buy the damned things without having people giggle on the bus.
…the variable speed drill he stole from the work site.
…a kitten.
…a dead kitten he promised his kids he’d bury in the park.
…the spy novel he’s been working on for the last three years.
…a nearly-empty bottle of cheap vodka stuck in an old wool sock.
…the medals and awards he received during the Viet Nam War, which he intends to give to his son if his ex-wife will allow him to see the boy before he checks into rehab again.
…his hopes, dreams, fears, hatreds, jealousies, desires, yearnings, promises.
You can never know what’s in the bag; you can never tell what thoughts lie under the red hat.
Blog photograph copyrighted to the photographer and used with permission by utata.org. All photographs used on utata.org are stored on flickr.com and are obtained via the flickr API. Text is copyrighted to the author, greg fallis and is used with permission by utata.org. Please see Show and Share Your Work
