An enormous green towel was wrapped around her head. It was the sort that people tend to use to dry their bodies rather than their hair. The way it was swirled around resembled an overly loaded soft serve ice cream cone. In her case, it would have been matcha - Japanese green tea - flavored.
She was wearing a sleeveless scoop-necked flower-printed top and a pair of white pants. Her body was a little pudgy with the sort of flabby arms that indicated the encroachment of middle age or perhaps the ravages of weight gained through successive child-bearing. The flesh at the top was slightly reddish and speckled with blemishes.
Most of the time, she faced the objects of her interest, a large number of bulging trash bags sitting in front of a sealed Goodwill collection container. The container, which is usually manned by a bored old gentleman who wiles away the time listening to music on an antiquated boombox, is like the back-end of a semi truck without it's cab.
People had dropped their donations off outside of the unmanned container on the weekend and the towel-headed lady was rummaging through them. Occasionally, she'd toss an item into the heap of junk in the bed of her white pick-up truck. The truck's size and shape indicated its age, though the body seemed to be in fair condition and paint relatively intact. Unlike modern trucks that have angled cabs with organically rounded edges and sleek, narrow beds, this one was boxy and huge. Keeping the gas tank in it likely set her back a pretty penny.
I walked by her on my way to the store, blue parasol in hand and black backpack strapped on. I was going to the discount market around the corner and down the block. My presence did nothing to interrupt her task and she continued to busy herself with rummaging through lumpy black and white plastic bags despite my presence. Unwanted items were left strewn over the ground as she skipped the middle-man in acquiring other people's unwanted possessions.
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