The Junk Man

I was tooling around Central Park last weekend on the 2nd day of my quest to see the pianos in the 2013 Sing for Hope exhibition (I am Opus the Octopus and i love Music, For My Grandma, The Loneliest Pianos).  It was hot and the Play Me Piano was the third stop of the day.  After almost expiring of the heat the day before (figuratively, not literally), I was taking more time to relax and so was sitting on a bench in the shade watching the crowds go by and considering whether to relax with a mani/pedi or soldier on to the next piano on my list. 

Cherry Hill is a bit of a crossroads in the park -- it's a loading point for pedicabs, a stopping point for horse-drawn carriages, and a photo opportunity for tourists on the path from the Imagine circle to the Bow Bridge and Bethesda Fountain.  New Yorkers gather under the ginkgoes that sit atop the hill overlooking the Cherry Hill Fountain and on the benches that surround it.   

It is not the sort of place where one can overlook a homeless man pushing -- and then unloading -- a cart loaded down with plastic bags.  Yet, most folks did just that.  I, on the other hand, couldn't quite take my eyes off of him.  I don't know if he was just reorganizing his load or settling in for the day.  I wish I could know the story of his life.