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 I take my early morning walk downtown.
Here, I encounter fifteen or twenty adults of all ages, sizes, sexes and hues. 
There is the small slick tongued group who remind you of a congressional committee.There is the frightened person who has their shopping cart possessions piled high in large black shopping bags; Looking as scared as a child who is caught in a nightmare this person stays clear of all. Next, I peer into a large plate glass window, catching a glimpse of a person combing their hair, and arranging their clothes. One person is in a frenzy as their crippled fingers rapidly scrounge the trash containers; drinking the remnants of beer cans and whiskey bottles. Others, more sedate, are carefully looking for discarded food. I give a wide berth to the angry looking person with the steel toed black boots and large ceramic knife. On occasion, a whispered voice will ask for assistance. 
In the morning, they are created as if from a wisp of the desert dirt. At night, they disappear with the setting sun.


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