Pillow/Talk

the poor homeless man laid on his restless pillow torn, sad, and depressed. It’s hard living in New York. No job, no money, and no family. I mean, I don’t think that a lot of people understand how homeless feels. Sometimes I wish that everybody was homeless a least one day in their life just so they get a glimps of what it’s like. People just assume that every homeless person isn’t really homeless, or that we are just faking to be homeless to bribe them out of their money. I just wish they were all in my shoes right now, then they would see. It’s not easy living out here with nothing, or with nobody caring about you. I have to go days with out food or water, and all the clothes I have are the ones that Ron gave me. I wish I had a second chance at life, but now I have nothing. “What are you thinking about?” Ron was back from trying to find us something to eat. “Who said I was thinking about something?” I asked him. “You’re always in a deep thought when you’re laying on that darn pillow. I’ve been here for about 10 minutes now, and you didn’t even see me sitting here. By the way, I brought us some left over bagels that George gave me from the café. I already ate mine, but you didn’t see me eat it,” he told me. “Thanks, you’re a great friend,” I said. “No problem, it’s what friends are for,” he shot back.