Listening to the can man
He talks to himself like he's crazy, picking up the beer cans that have fallen off our porch and pissing up against our dumpster. But what's disturbing is not the thought that he's crazy, but the thought that he's not. The disturbing thought, the thought that surprises us and sends us queasily into silently saying nothing, is that maybe somebody's there. Maybe casting Hitchcock-styled shadows on the wall behind us, just out of vision, around the corner, off screen.