The saddest car in Seattle
Apr. 1st, 2007 08:48 am I pass by this car two or three times a week on my way to work. It's always been somewhere near the office. In December it used be parked in one of the six free spots right in front, which are always taken by someone, although recently it was parked a block and a half away, between the meat curing wearhouse and the animal testing lab. It's so distinctive that my blurring the license plate was probably pointless.
What you can't see is the slow disintegration of the car. Or its inhabitants. Six months ago, all of its windows were intact; now the passenger-side window is shattered, replaced with multiple layers of plastic. The insulation around the edge of the door on the driver's side now dangles in the road. The interior of the car, what can be seen of it, is packed floor to ceiling with layers of junk. The windows are often covered with layers of blankets to provide insulation like medieval tapestries.
Two people, both significantly overweight, live in that car. They emerge with the sun and the business day to begin panhandling all over again. Both wear Real Change badges (Real Change is "the newspaper of homelessness in Seattle": purchase of the newspaper helps "create opportunity and a voice for low-income people while taking action to end homelessness and poverty") and hawk Real Change newsletters on the streets. It doesn't seem to be doing them any good. They sleep in the car, leaving the powered scooter and the old lady wheelbasket outside. They must not sleep easily.
Friday, as I passed by this spot in the morning, the car was gone. So was the wheelbasket. The powered scooter was still there but the basket that hangs up front off the handlebars had been smashed and dangled from one strap. By the time I left in the afternoon, even the scooter was gone.
What you can't see is the slow disintegration of the car. Or its inhabitants. Six months ago, all of its windows were intact; now the passenger-side window is shattered, replaced with multiple layers of plastic. The insulation around the edge of the door on the driver's side now dangles in the road. The interior of the car, what can be seen of it, is packed floor to ceiling with layers of junk. The windows are often covered with layers of blankets to provide insulation like medieval tapestries.
Two people, both significantly overweight, live in that car. They emerge with the sun and the business day to begin panhandling all over again. Both wear Real Change badges (Real Change is "the newspaper of homelessness in Seattle": purchase of the newspaper helps "create opportunity and a voice for low-income people while taking action to end homelessness and poverty") and hawk Real Change newsletters on the streets. It doesn't seem to be doing them any good. They sleep in the car, leaving the powered scooter and the old lady wheelbasket outside. They must not sleep easily.
Friday, as I passed by this spot in the morning, the car was gone. So was the wheelbasket. The powered scooter was still there but the basket that hangs up front off the handlebars had been smashed and dangled from one strap. By the time I left in the afternoon, even the scooter was gone.