On my way home I see two people on the sidewalk near the light. They're holding homemade signs. The signs ask for money.
It's two in the afternoon. It's shockingly hot, the sidewalk is blindingly white, one of them has no hat.
I have some cash but today, I need it. I have an old beach unbrella, I could give it.
They have a cart full of items I didn't get a good look at. They each hold large cups with straws.
A few yards behind them is a park area, with shade and soft grass.
I wonder why they both remain in the punishing heat? Why don't they wait for evening, for more people and cooler air? Why don't they take turns, half the sun, share the hat? I'm astounded. I'm beyond that. I'm... non-plussed.
The light changes and I drive on, having donated neither money nor unbrella. Puzzling over why they sat there on sizzling concrete. It's the desert. The air is dry. The sky is clear. The sun is a hammer.
I see snapshots of primitive life, both plant and animal, pulling back from heat. I know I'll ponder this later. These two people on the sidewalk, in the killing light with shade so close.
I see cows standing in the rain. Turkeys drowning. I'm getting a headache.
I'll think about this again, this strange behavior I saw today. But the people are ghosts.
