Myles/Soldier

He doesn’t know where he’s going to sleep
tonight. Depending on the weather, he could pick the
park bench. It would be better in one of those populous
rooms downtown, where he’d have to hold on tight to his

belongings, keeping one eye open. And they’re crawling with bedbugs that give him a rash. Do you know how hard it is
to have an itch you can not scratch because of all the layers on your back? He doesn’t know when he’ll eat again, maybe the

soup kitchen. Or if he’s lucky he might collect a few dollars
from the business men who buy their coffee around the
corner. During the day he frequents the thrift-shops, sits on the couches in there when he gets too tired to walk. He might

pop in the donut shop to wash his face in the bathroom
sink, and some other unmentionables so he doesn’t stink. Sometimes he sells jewelry. He makes it himself, sells it
there on the sidewalk. I bought a piece myself. Cost me

$5.00. I made friends with him. I sat down on the
ground and we talked. He was young enough to be
my son. That part really got to me. His parents were both
alive, so he told me.