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For one month my stomach was full, hands toasted while around one of many warm drinks handed off to me by strangers, along with clothes, money, one time even a cell phone.
Thanksgiving to Christmas, these streets I call home were anything but lonely, thirty treasured days of being looked upon as human. The smiles, joy, as bright as the festive lights.
Now all gone. Same streets, same people, same me. But like a Christmas tree I have served my all-too-short purpose of helping others feel better about themselves, and so like the spruce it’s to the gutter I’m tossed.
The Season of Giving is over.