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kitchen_kinkI wonder what’s going on inside his head.
He walks, a slow, rocking gait, up and down between the tables at the Whole Foods. Rag in hand, he searches for cleaning to do – little spills to clean, specks of crumbs on the tables. A small, eternal grin paints his round face. The work seems enough for him, seems to make him happy, and when he finds no work, he sits at a table, rocking back and forth, self-comfort.
For a moment his expression changes, as he peers under a table, looking for something to sweep. Then, back to the grin.
He walks, a slow, rocking gait, up and down between the tables at the Whole Foods. Rag in hand, he searches for cleaning to do – little spills to clean, specks of crumbs on the tables. A small, eternal grin paints his round face. The work seems enough for him, seems to make him happy, and when he finds no work, he sits at a table, rocking back and forth, self-comfort.
For a moment his expression changes, as he peers under a table, looking for something to sweep. Then, back to the grin.
