She is young. Perhaps, a student of her family's manners or insensitivities. She is about fourteen, perhaps younger. She wears her locks tightly woven upon her head in cornrow order. She seems to tower at about five foot eight, but this ingenue lets go her litter. Her butt protrudes as if to tell the world that she is the only thing that matters. In her path lies the brown and orange Reese's wrappers that litter the public's easement on a daily basis. The wrappers get stuck on others. Sometimes, each simply blows into the gangways and gardens. Police or Streets and Sanitation are shiftless; litterpigs are clueless, heartless, and lawless.
After her mouth and the chocalate cup converges, the bottom half is occasionally left in tact. The peanut butter is exposed in its dark brown waxy pleted seat. The reminant is brazenly and cavalierly dropped. It makes its way to the concrete where it sits waiting for the rubber sole that will contaminate its next victim. Yet knowingly offensive, this child continues to eat her peanut butter cups, while roaming Ridge Boulevard. She wears the dark duds of an unrepentent existence.
Her bad habit was noticed. She was told. Yet, I find myself picking up her callous chocolate and peanut butter mucous extractions. An effort to alert her went without much concern. The wrappers remain. A decision was made to continue for her uncaring edification and physical expansion.
She is just one who heaves and heaps their candy wrappers, cigarette butts, juice bottles, packaging, and McDonalds, while they ride or roam to their intended destiny. The thoughtless think little about those who must follow in their path.