Shaved head, dusty green dress shirt untucked, khaki corduroys, brown loafers with holes. Nibbles a hard-boiled egg someone's given him, perhaps a nearby restaurant.
Watches the birds close by, three black crows, as homeless as he is. Finishes half of his egg, shares the other half with them, breaking it into crumbs which he scatters before them, a hobo feast.
Four black crows under the sky, scavengers, living life exactly as Jesus instructed.
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© 2002-2013 Mark Phillips.
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This writing is fiction. Please don't confuse it with reality.