Orange Peels

I watched the people pass me by, like I was a nobody, a nothing at all, for a long time. I watched as a woman drank a long pull from a cola can then threw it behind her like it was worthless. I wanted to scream “PICK THAT UP! THIS IS THE ONLY EARTH WE HAVE!” But I knew no-one would care, so I picked it up and threw it in my bag and walked on. This is what I do, by the way. I pick up peoples trash.

I  follow some people like a hawk, like people who have kids, picnic baskets. Anything that could mean trash, I once followed this woman with a two year old who kept throwing orange peels at me. Ones that had rotted and were being taken to the dump.  Yeah I kind of hate my job, but I know no one else will take It so I guess I just pretend I’m like a super hero, picking up garbage, stabbing paper, sweeping dirt. EVERY-DAY. I guess it’s ok I mean I’m in the most beautiful city in the world. Paris. People here are pretty good at keeping the city clean but some days, I just want to scream.

It was a beautiful Sunday morning as I swept the streets beneath the Eiffel tower, just barely lit up by the sun rising on the horizons. I swept the last of the dirt and grass off of the pavement just as my watch showed six. I sat down on the side of the road and pulled an orange from beneath my coat. I huddled against the morning wind that had started to blow, wishing I had a nice cup of tea, I slowly peeled the orange and slowly split it in half, carefully wrapping one half up in my handkerchief stowing it in my jacket for dinner. Oh and I forgot to mention, I’m homeless.

It is hard being invisible, I know. Once when I had been homeless for about six months, I asked a woman if she wanted help with her groceries, she asked the man next to me if he would help her. I actually felt as though she had punched me in the chest. I know I look strange in my ragged trench coat, thread bear jeans and limp black t-shirt, but I’m still human! I know they think I’ll rob them or steal their wallet, but I’m not like that! I wished I hadn’t brought that up, now I feel resentment to that woman. Maybe that man next to me was her husband or son. I don’t know. Anyway returning to reality upon hearing  approaching footsteps I quickly got up from the curb and picked up my broom, ad resumed sweeping my beloved street. Of course it would be nice if a lady would talk to me.  I’d tip my hat and she would smile. Of course I would need a hat to do such a thing..  ah well. As I sweep the last of the dirt onto a pile, I spot a white piece of paper stinking out among the dust and grime. I slowly pick It up and read it carefully, it seems to be a business card. It reads “ Belle Carter. Occupation, Writer. Number, 087-992-9237. Call if you have a story to tell the world”

And there you have it Belle, that is why I am here, to tell my story to the world.