While I traveled by train and bus to my mother’s facility, a team entered the cabin of the airplane to clean it up before the next group of passengers boarded. I had used a cup, and a wrapper for the peanuts, and a napkin. I had missed the trash collection round by the flight attendant, absorbed in my puzzle, so had left them all stuffed in the seat pocket, where a person was now reaching in and adding them to a larger trash bag full of similar items. I thought of those things, too, as I rode to see my mother, as I often did. Little droppings of my existence.