Alone on the bus, a few blocks from the final stop, I looked around and also alone in the passage way was a piece of kale. It had fallen out of the Trader Jo’s bag of the disembarking man at the stop from which we had just pulled away from the curb. There was tenderness in the lonesomeness of the kale piece on the cold metal floor. I felt empathy and then the exchange driver boarded the bus. He walked the length of his bus, before beginning his shift. On his return from the back of the bus, -you see him approaching in the final picture,- he kicked the kale aside. I let out an involuntary gasp.