Detachment and Dave

This weekend i collected cans, but not for myself. Let me explain.

It was Saturday night at 2 in the morning and i was outside a party with my friend’s older brother Tony. We were smoking a cigarette when a black man walks up to us with a shopping cart half full of cans.

The guy looked like he was hurting. He appeared about 40-50ish and was wearing a black skull hat, a worn out Carhartt, and filthy khaki pants. Although the clothing seemed sufficiently warm for the weather, he was missing teeth and his eyes rolled uncontrollably in their sockets. He had a limp as well.

The man stayed on the sidewalk with his cart and asked if it was alright if he could pick up the cans that were scattered across the front porch.

Tony didn’t make eye contact or answer him. This guy is from NYC, so i feel that he has a little more of a precautious attitude when it comes to talking to wandering strangers in the night.

So with Tony opting out of the conversation, i replied “of course, let me help you” and together we began collecting the mess of cans in the front yard.

Naturally, i was interested in this stranger, so we began talking. i mentioned how i was collecting cans for a blogging class but i don't think he knew what a blog was. Putting that topic aside, i asked him how often he can hunts, he said three days a week…


“Three days, that’s not too bad, how much ya usually make?”

“Well I s'pose I make ‘bout $300 a week.”

“Really?”

“Yea, yea. $300 a week.”

“Whoa, that’s pretty good money.” says the middle class college student who has a job and ignorantly looks at $300 as a good chunk of money.

“Well it’s not ‘nough fer me ta get ‘n apartment, but once my compensation check comes, Ima get $100,000.”

“Compensation man, for what?"