The pieces of wood and plastic are unrecognizable strewn and disassembled, scattered for countless days across the dusty concrete floor in the darkness of a sun-baked steel room. A note past-due is now the only friend of the rusty steel tomb, calling to sullen guests who arrive in red polyester vests, steel-toed boots and work gloves bearing shovels, dust pans and brooms.
A parade to the dumpster begins of boxes, bags of moldy clothes and children's broken toys. Disassembled bed frames and dressers missing drawers. The flotsam in the dusty sweeps are long forgotten photos, left behind for lack of space or time to carry. Papers scrawled with crayoned flowers, grass, dogs and cats in a fantasy life of peace. There simply was no more money to keep the property clean.
There are countless such trails of debris across the world, a shedding of hopes and dreams. The meaning of community and comfort erodes until all that is left is to survive. What becomes of the children raised on the road between low wage jobs and constant hunger, watching their parents leave behind broken pieces of their lives?
