as we pull into the wal-mart parking lot and thread our way through cars and shoppers and carts, my headlights fall on a very tall, somewhat large man wearing mud-stained overalls, a flannel shirt, and a baseball cap.

“wow,” i say.  “that guy.”

“yeah,” says andy.  “i bet he’s seen a lot.”

“i know,” i say.

i look at the man again, at his pockmarked face painted over with patchy stubble, at his rolled-up cuffs and black boots.  i look at his shopping cart full of plastic wal-mart bags, each with its own yellow smiley face.  i look at his wife, her glasses slipping down her nose, her dress not quite covering her pale calves.

as i watch them walk by, a young guy in an oversize sweatshirt, too-large jeans, and sneakers brushes past them, one small bag clutched in his fist.

“everyone’s the same when they’re asleep,” i say.