Thursday, December 23, 2010
The day laborers all congregate across the road from the 7 Eleven, patiently waiting for someone to drive past and hire them for a days labor. They're all bundled in heavy hoodies, whatever warm clothing they own, those that own their own tools holding the poles or sticks or belts. One or two periodically duck into the 7 Eleven for a coffee. The Little Girl asks what they're waiting for, and I reply that they're waiting for work, waiting for someone to hire them for a day's labor. As we swing back in the late afternoon, some of the men are still waiting, and the Little Girl looks up at me---"they're still waiting," she says in a sad and mildly mournful voice, understanding that they've waited the whole day for naught, have made no money, and she understands that they will return the next day and wait again.