then he shakes his head and sends the driver to the trunk for more stuff--a kid’s skateboard, a deflated inner tube, fishing gear. They layer this on top of the suitcase in the back seat, cleverly rearranging it into mountains and valleys. A soccer ball going flat is last.
Now the driver looks at his watch and motions it’s time to leave. Briefcase follows, but keeps looking back, worried. When they pass by I don’t ask for spare change. They don’t see me. The minute they round the corner, I stash my donations cup in my special place behind a chimney wall. I keep a wrench handy there too. Anyone walking by would think this car with its messy back seat don’t have a thing worth stealing. Except I been watching the show. I hunker down and wait for some corner noise and soon enough two dudes are arguing over nothing that matters, giving me cover for my shower of glass.