Sunday in the Park

We drove to the park to walk our dog. It was empty except for a young couple in the parking lot inside their car. A large curvy woman got out. She was wearing a black bra and colorful squeezy pants. She was shouting at her bean pole of a man who wore a shirt and hot pink jeans hanging below his butt, black undies showing.  He was pulling a quilt out of the back seat. She was gathering garbage from inside the car and filling a bag while shouting at him. A blue sport beverage with orange cap and two coffee cups were perched on the roof.

I have a feeling they slept in their car, my husband said.

It's sad. Maybe she's pregnant and they've been thrown out of their homes. 

They tossed a bag of trash next to the park trash bin. The woman's shouting continued. As we circled the park her voice carried across the empty ball field. My socks and sneakers were wet from the dew.

Let's go for another walk, I said to my husband. I need to wipe the slate clean and start the walk over, this is too painful to witness. 

We drove a few blocks and walked through another neighborhood. There was an abandoned box fan on the sidewalk, blades spinning in the wind. I feel so much better, I said.