8th Street

On a chilly Monday morning, I walk down to Eight Street. As the traffic light turns red, I stop on the edge of the sidewalk. The sudden cold breeze alerts my consciousness of my surroundings. A few steps away from mine, I spot an elderly Asian woman, who bends down her body, searching for something inside of a trash bin. I stand next to her motionlessly, on a corner of Eight Street.

She looks fairly old, has a wrinkled face, stooped shoulders, and skinny body, which makes her look fragile and weak. She reaches her tiny hand inside of the trash bin, searching, looking, and hoping to find something – something that is inside of the trash bin. As she continues to dig inside of the trash, I smell the unpleasant aroma coming from her surroundings. The smell of coffee, Teriyaki Sauce, Coke, mashed potatoes, and even smell of fresh peppers, anything that you can think of, I smell from her surroundings.

She finally picks something: the empty bottles and cans. She picks them up as if it’s precious jewels, and she dumps them into her trash bags. She continues to dig inside to find the empty bottles and cans until her trash bag gets full. The time has passed by, but her trash bag is still empty. The elderly Asian woman is desperately looks for more, searching, looking and hoping to find empty bottles and cans. With a sense of desperation, she dives into trash bin, swimming and searching for bottles and cans. She stops as she realizes that she can’t find it anymore. She then migrates to other trash bin, right across from Eight Street.

The traffic light turns green, but I don’t move. I mean I can’t move. I watch her migrate as I stand still alone, on a corner of the Eight Street.

To everyone else, she is invisible.