The boy moves in the dark. Quick at first, then almost
imperceptive once he reaches the dumpster. The red eye of a wall-mounted camera
blinks. He waits, listens, and vaults over the wall, landing among the trash.
He squats still and listening. All clear. So he rips into the big black
trashbags, quiet as a bird.
Two nights ago he found half a dozen quarter-pounders and a
basketfull of fries. Still warm. That was a good night. They ate like kings
beneath the overpass, each passing around a tallboy of rotgut beer. One kid
raised the can and proposed a toast. –To Bird! Somehow seems to always bring
the feast. But how about some ketchup next time? All laughed in the shadows.
Last night he made noise and barely got out unseen and
emptyhanded. Tonight there is nothing but a few packages of expired buns. At
least they’ll eat something.
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