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The young man walks through the park, a crumpled, greasy bag in hand. The birds chirp, the squirrels skitter along, in search of the next nut. The sun shines, brilliantly. On a bench, an old man sleeps. He is ragged looking, many nights on a bench will leave anyone the same. Newspapers scatter in the wind, one man's news is another man's blanket. The old man stirs, groggily rubbing his eyes. The young man stands before him, offering the greasy bag. A grubby hand reaches out, while a shabby head nods. The young man continues on, with a swelling heart. _______________________________________________________________________________ Open to discussions/suggestions. :)