The disheveled man bumped into me, mumbled something, probably ‘excuse me’. I remember his voice being hoarse, labored. When I glanced back, he seemed hurried. I didn’t bother saying anything, people are so wrapped up in themselves they won’t hear you anyway. We went back to look for him, ask around, when we realized my wallet was gone, but nobody knew him. When I found the wallet in the mailbox a week later with my money still in it but the pictures all gone I was surprised. What does some homeless guy want with photos of my wife and kids?
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Title by: johnathan henry
Story by: David
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