An abandoned shopping cart, the store name nearly obliterated by time and weather, laid on its side in the ditch. A random motorist might notice it, but none stopped to claim it.
Its current owner, watching the rain wash away the daily detritus from its wire frame, would have fought anyone who touched it. He crouched beneath the nearby highway overpass, out of the wind and cold. All his worldly possession piled beside him, wrapped tightly in black plastic bags.
When the sun returned to the sky, as water evaporated back into the clouds, and more rust grew on the metal giving it a rich patina, the plastic bags were returned to the cart and its owner continued on his way.
No direction, and no plans other than to find shelter when it became dark and food when he grew hungry.
The absence of a sound mind was a kindness. Memories of family and friends replaced by a sense of survival, a drive to keep moving. Only, he doesn’t know if it’s towards or away from something.
Trifecta, a weekly one-word prompt, challenges writers to use that word in its third definition form, using no less than 33 words or no more than 333. The week’s prompt is: Absence [noun \ ab-sən(t)s\ ] 3: want, lack
*Trivia: This is my 600th post… now back to your regularly scheduled programming.