I sat in the van. Watched. Waited for something to happen. Hoped for the big fish. Spent hours observing the bottom feeders of a concrete ecosystem duck in and out of alleys and side streets.
Nothing but the passing of tweakers, bums and the occasional street whore.
Three o’clock. No one on the street but a morbidly obese female transient. I watched as she took a seat near the intersection, next to an entrance of a closed liquor store. She used her filthy hands to scoop chow mein out of a Chinese takeout box, shoveled it into her mouth.
I named her Henrietta.
Minutes passed like hours. Henrietta set her food aside, retrieved a roll of toilet paper out of her grimy backpack, wrapped her right hand like a mummy.
After scanning left and right, she used her left hand to lift up her gut, stuck her mummified right hand into her pants and wiped vigorously between her legs. She pulled her hand out of her pants, dropped her gut, then sniffed the stained toilet paper before balling it up and tossing it into the gutter.
A deep breath and one loud belch later, she picked up the takeout box, finished her leftovers. She tossed the box next to the balled up toilet paper, got up slowly, picked up her backpack and waddled around the corner. Out of sight.
Another hour later, I called it a night. The big fish never came my way.
Maybe tomorrow.
Tags: chinese food · homeless · surveillance · toilet paper
