I can’t believe it’s been a half a year since I left City Mart and all my friends and family. 188 days to be precise. Smelly Man Who Lives Outside is gone. I woke up in the middle of the night to sound of other “outside people” arguing around the barrel fire, but I dozed back off again. In the morning when I woke up I suddenly realized my basket was almost totally empty. Besides a few pieces of trash, there was nothing. No musty sleeping bag, stinky dirty clothes, muddy boots, or heavy, rusty cans of food – nothing. I haven’t felt this light and free since, well, I was at home. Maybe it’s time I head home. I miss home so much.
I’m so stupid. I thought it would be fun to ride the wind down out the parking lot, and see the bright lights down the street. I was just tired of being in the hot sun or cold winter for hours, carrying groceries day in and day out, and carrying sticky trash bags full of empty pop cans. Oh, but what I would do to be back, cruising the aisles of an air conditioned store, being tucked in with my family at night. I would the trade muddy boots and smelly sleeping bags for a lifetime of pop can duty, if only I could be home again. The problem is, don’t know if they’d want me back. The wobble in my left front wheel has only gotten worse, and I can feel my other wheels starting to rust from being left out in the dewy grass. Plus, I probably stink as bad as an “outside person.” I would be so ashamed to come back looking like this. Ugh. But what else can I do? Maybe if I return they could at least use some of me for spare parts. That way I could be useful and happy, even if I’m never really on active duty again. I guess that’s what I’ll do. The next time I get pushed onto pavement, I’m going to make a break for it as fast as my wobble-wheel will take me. Wish me luck, Diary.