Here I am, driving back home after I dropped of our son at school. I’m taking the longer back route as I find the short route traumatic since the school principle and head of admin stood on the roads for several days in a row to slow down traffic. The neighborhood had complained that cars were driving too fast, which could harm them, their pets and children. I thought to drive 30 was okay and slow enough, but this morning the head of admin still signaled me.  My breathing rooms had shut down completely. Today I took the back route and it felt so much safer. Now I’m on my way back home, before the roundabout  I have to wait and the morning sun is greeting me straight into my eyes. I squeeze them tight. To help my eyes to handle the quite bright light my eyes wander off from the car in front of me to the sidewalk on the left. I see an African boy in a neat uniform walking in the same direction I’m going. He is walking up right and his walk is steady; he knows where he is going. His thread is light. My mind reacts to this registering of this scene. I’m fully aware I’m sitting in my one million dollar car being a white, blue eyed woman, who just dropped of her son at a nice school. I feel the pain in my body to see this boy all on his own walking towards his school. He has to cross real busy roads to get there. But then I realise I did the same thing when I was his age, it wasn’t a city, but I also walked to school every day. My body relaxes a bit, he should be fine. The sun still straight up into my eyes, my face turns to the right and I see a ginger man sitting on the sidewalk: back against the wall, knees up, feet curled, heels touching his buttocks. He’s wearing black pants and a green army like jacket. He has one sleeve up, the other arm is holding a needle, it is in his right arm, but it seems stuck. I’m scared and I look away, I look again, did I really just see that? There it is again: a ginger man sitting on the sidewalk: back against the wall, knees up, feet curled, heels touching his buttocks. He’s wearing black pants and a green army like jacket. He has one sleeve up, the other arm is holding a needle, it is in his right arm, but it seems stuck. I can see a liquid and I see a red like color in it. It is a long needle. The man is completely occupied with it. I feel something is changing. I look up. It’s the traffic, it’s moving, I move too. The sun is in my eyes. I keep it there. I don’t look back. I drive back home. Here I am leaving the African boy walking to school on the left and the ginger man sitting on the right.

I’ve left.

The image stayed.

It’s still there.

It is fixed.

It does not leave.