motionless on the hard pavement

The cans of tomato soup sat in a cardboard box on the loading dock of the grocery store. There was a bit of water seepage on one corner of the box. Five of the cans of tomato soup were dented. Three had sprung leaks, causing ten cans' labels to be damaged.

In the store, the store manager tightened his belt and tucked in his white cotton short-sleeve shirt. His tie had pictures of Tabasco bottles on it for which he'd saved up twenty proofs of purchase. It had taken three months to arrive, but he felt the wait was well worth it.

In the front of the store a woman worked the cash register scanning groceries. She was thinking about the store manager's threat to make everyone work on a holiday without overtime pay. A salmon came through her line and bought three-ply toilet paper, two lottery tickets, and some skin lotion. She noticed his wavy hair, gold tooth, and monocle. Hi, I'm Pete, he said.

In the parking lot the hitchhiker lay motionless on the hard pavement staring straight up into the blue sky. He was playing a harmonica. The instrument was lodged in his mouth, and his arms were at his side. He didn't know the name of the song because it was one that he had made up of his own accord, but it did sound vaguely Appalachian in its style.

On the loading dock, the cans of tomato soup remained in the box. From a distance, birdsong.