My stomach is empty, as is my fridge. It is very much time to make a trip to the grocery store. I grab my wife, wallet and keys, and fly out the front door.
Minutes later, ravenous, I am scouring the aisles of the grocery store, piling sustenance into my cart. I have breads, cereals, meats, cheeses, puddings, pastas, frozen burritos, and produce. Kozy Shack, Life, Prego, Tillamook. Never grocery shop when you are hungry. Your savings will disappear at the checkout.
With a full cart (and then some) my wife and I exit the store. I am almost sprinting, ready to tear open a bag of Kettle Chips for the car ride home.
We get to the car and unload our groceries, caught up in the excitement of our forthcoming gluttonous feast. Then, we hop in and speed out of the parking lot. As we approach the first stoplight, we look to our left and notice a woman sitting on the median.
She is perched on an overturned shopping cart. She is dressed in tattered, mismatched clothing. Next to her is another cart filled with empty soda cans and plastic water bottles. Amidst the recyclables are several bags of belongings—socks, shirts, and small household items. Her face is sullen and vacant. She does not speak, but only looks up at us through weathered, distant eyes. The woman holds a sign:
Homeless.
Need Help.
God Bless.
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