The homeless man.

Mike burke

Everyone on our neighbor hood knew the homeless man. He was old, around the age of 50. Every day he would sit down on the corner of the road, but he was never sad. My parents always told me to stay away from him, but that never stopped me. I would talk to him almost everyday, I would give him some of my left over dinner, and we would just sit down and talk. He always told me stories of his past, his dad, who died from unknown diseases, and his mom, who threw him out of the house a year later. He wandered into an orphanage until he was 18, and he left. He tried to get a job often, but there was just no openings. He gave up after 4 years, and retreated back to the city. In his depression he turned to beer, until he had no money to get more. With nothing on him, he wandered over to our little street corner, where for the first time in years he had gotten any type of kindness. The neighborhoods loved him, and would always give what they could afford, even though we couldn't spare much. But as time passed by, I had to leave for school. A whole 3 months passed by before I visited, and I finally returned home. When I came home, I asked where the homeless man was. But he was dead, from a heart attack . But as he was dying, the last thing he said, he said to my parents, to take good care of me, because I had a heart of gold. But even in his death he was generous, because when he died, he gave me the only thing he had left, love.