A few days ago, a little girl started waving at me from a window. But that house never put out trash, never turned on lights, and never showed signs of life, except her. The morning she stopped smiling, I knew whatever was waiting inside that house wasn’t something I could ignore.
I work in sanitation.
Most folks don’t think about us until their trash piles up for a week, and then suddenly we’re essential.
But that’s fine.
I don’t need recognition.
I just need the work to fill the hours and keep my mind busy enough that I don’t end up thinking about her.
I started my route before dawn, around 4:10 a.m., when the streets were empty. The city had a different face at that hour… quieter.
Lonelier.
By the time my truck rolled onto Maple Street, the sky was just starting to pale. I’d kill the engine for a minute or two, step down from the cab, and watch the sun climb over the rooftops before moving on.
That’s when I first saw her.
A little girl, standing at the window of a pale blue, two-story house.
