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Hobos

By S.S.Y., Toronto, Canada

It wasn’t what he wanted.

Never in his dreams did he think he would end up on the streets. He should have known, with his unorthodox living style he was bound to be a homeless person. On a sunny Saturday, he sat on the warm concrete sidewalk in the midst of strolling people. Busy people. Happy people. He suddenly felt a pang of hatred for these merry passerbys; he blamed them for his own suffering.

However deep inside he knew that no one was to be blamed for his misfortune other than himself. It was he who wasted his high school career to alcohol and drugs and women. And here he was, on the streets of downtown Toronto, a city full of his kind.

He sat casually on the sidewalk. His pallor was a sickening white with unhealthy red spots around his hopeless dark eyes, which could be the result from days of grieving.

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