It rained hard on a Saturday afternoon as I was joining the linear crowd queuing to pass through the SBMA Bridge . People were whining and complaining on the unexpected turn of wet event. I was feeling irritated myself when something caught my eyes: Wet carton sheets, melting on the wet pavement. The sheets were dragged by the heavy footsteps of tired people passing by. At first it didn't occur to me how tragic the sight is -- It didn't occur to me, that the carton sheets belong to people in need of shelter, of clothing and of warm bed.
I imagined a few hours after the rain, that a wet shaking old beggar will look for her carton sheet, only to find it cold and fragmented into pieces -- just like her hopes and dreams.
I saw the end the bridge, but it didn't end the gloom face I had.
