The Bird

He was there again, limping. His left leg was almost gone and he used the right one to walk  from one piece of bread crumb to another. The bird is a beautiful black and white creature. Eat, little one, I told him. Eat. That was all I could do for him. People walked past us, rushing to get on the train. They were on their way somewhere home. We–the bird and I–don’t have a home.

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