4.22.2012

113 of 365

He drank the last few drops and set the bottle on the curb. He had been there with the cardboard sign propped against his shins for the greater part of the afternoon. Each driver that passed he stared down, but the vast majority avoided eye contact. They changed radio stations and searched glove compartments for nothing in particular, pardoned only by a green light. By nightfall, he had abandoned the empty bottle, and walked on.

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