Every afternoon at the parking garage, I see this car and wonder about the person who drives it. This happens almost every day.
What is the story? Why the mountain of poptarts, baby diapers, magazines, cereal and junk mail. Why is there so much trash in the car that the driver (I'm almost certain it is a woman) can barely see out the windows?
Is the person homeless, mentally disturbed, both? Perhaps just a slob? I'm drawn to the car. I want to stand there and stare at the contents, put together the puzzle of the life of the occupant.