Yesterday clothes were flying out of a truck. A bright pink shirt, a blue tank top, something black. The pink shirt landed on the shoulder of the road, near a dead raccoon that had been there for days. Whose job is it to scrape raccoons off the freeway? Is it the same person who picks up clothes that have flown out of trucks? 

This morning, as I was driving behind a green pickup truck, something flew out of the bed and into the road. It looked like skin. A big chunk of skin flying out of the bed of this person's pickup truck. I ran over this unpleasant item and continued on my way behind this truck, but then another one flew out of the bed. This time I got a good look at it as I passed over it. It was a rubber glove. Two rubber gloves had flown out of this person's truck. A pair of rubber gloves.  At least, I thought, there probably won't be more. Who carries more than one pair of rubber gloves in the back of their pickup truck? But then a minute later out came another one. Three rubber gloves out of this person's truck! Was his truck bed full of rubber gloves? I wanted to pull up next to him and shout, "Rubber gloves are flying out of your truck!" I wanted to look into the bed and see how many there were.  What if it was just full of rubber gloves? What if I were to look in and see heaps of rubber gloves?  What then?

And then, further up the freeway, I saw that the pink shirt that had flown out of the truck yesterday was still on the side of the road near the raccoon.  I had the sudden urge to pull over and cover the raccoon with the shirt. He looked so exposed and lonely. I wanted to stop.