Every other morning on my way to coffee I take the lane. Because the street on the other side is commercial, I see the backs of shops; and above those shops, apartments.

Halfway down the lane a sour old man sits at his window. Same old man, same old window. The first couple times I waved. Nothing. Then I stopped looking for him.

Last Thursday I turned into the lane and I saw a young woman walking her dog, a plastic bag in hand. Another fifty feet and I saw the old man, staring at a garbage can.

I’m not sure how I knew what was going to happen, but I did.