"The first movements in the Home Depot parking lot, before the store opened at 6 a.m, before the sun rose, and well before Ernesto woke up, came from the second row. One man climbed out of his car into the dark, shined a flashlight into his backpack, and brushed off the long, white sleeves of his cotton shirt. Then he zipped up the bag, slammed the car door shut, and walked out of the lot, onto the sidewalk, and off down the street."
"A man in an orange vest trudged slowly through the aisles of the lot, gathering stranded shopping carts, stacking and returning them. Another man in an orange vest walked around the perimeter of the store, inspecting. Then they unlocked its doors, and went inside. A red shipping container sat between the first and second rows of the lot, full of Christmas trees-it was December-and a few men drove into the lot and pried open the door of the container to unload the evergreens."
Before sunrise, individuals gather and move in a Home Depot parking lot. A man checks his backpack, zips it closed, and walks away. Store workers in orange vests collect shopping carts, inspect the perimeter, unlock doors, and enter the store. A red shipping container of Christmas trees is opened and unloaded, while a tinny speaker plays hip-hop and reggaeton and pine trees crash on the blacktop. People sleeping in vehicles wake, perform small morning rituals like brushing teeth and disposing of trash, and drive off. In a weatherbeaten black SUV, Ernesto emerges as the sky glows Big Orange and the store opens.
Read at Slate Magazine
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