A Tear for Christmas

It was a bitter cold night again. “It must be winter,” though the not-so-young man as he stumbled across the dirty city pavement — his crusty home. Winter didn’t mean much more to him than deciding if he was numb from the exterior elements or from the alcohol in his interior. But before he could debate the issue, his sloshed brain had forgotten what he was thinking about.

It was a chilly night as Mr. Ben Daniels bustled his children and wife out of their cozy, warm house into the family station wagon.

They were off to get a Christmas tree. “It would be fun for the kids deciding which pine-scented tree to get,” thought Mr. Daniels.

“Where am I?” asked the derelict of himself, as he scratched his head and pulled at his filthy hair. Frustrated at his inability to answer the question, he did what he always did, forgot it and took another swig from his cheap bottle of wine.

The children squealed with delight as Mr. Daniels loaded their newly-purchased tree into the station wagon. He would have to leave the tailgate down for the tree was too long to carry otherwise.

As he slid it in the back, Mr. Daniels heard a crack. One of the branches was caught. He would have to be more careful.

The wind whipped and swirled the trash that littered the streets as the bum sat down in the doorway of…