Woman from the shelter steps confidently into traffic, a busy four lane street, eating donuts from a bag.
She's in command. Cars stop, a path forms, she acknowledges them with an airy wave but does not thank them.
This is not schizophrenia. It's what someone once called the elementary class struggle. A brief moment of power, when the destitute woman controls hundreds of thousands of dollars of consumer goods, the four lanes of expensive automobiles owned by those like me comfortable enough to afford them.