General

There was normally a beggar on every corner. In fact, many of the panhandlers worked the same corner every day. People got to know them and most would avoid them

By mahoreveuse, April 3, 2013.

Found in The Biomass Revolution, authored by Nicholas Smith.

General

The hobo sat in the bone-chilling damp of early November, sheltering under the arch of an old brick railway bridge. In his weather roughened hands he held the only items he would never pawn for food. An old medal and a photograph. After the war he had lived for his wife and child. He never spoke of the horror or the beloved friends he lost, often horrifically. He shut those memories away and become the husband and father they needed. Sometimes he was short tempered, a flashback would shake him up and he would be out of sorts. But he never gave in to drinking. Then in one night everything changed. His wife and son were on their way home in the car, it was late. They were hit by a drunk lawyer on his way home from a Christmas party. He touched the creased picture, stroked their hair and then clutched it to his sodden jacket. As the tears tumbled he placed his Victoria Cross back into his pocket and fumbled with numb fingers to fasten the button that closed it.