Finding. (an old man on the beach with a metal detector)
john sat down on the curb. He pulled his tattered old jacket closer around him, trying to collect all of his warmth closer to his body, but it seemed to slip through his hands like kitty litter. He looked up at the night sky. The lights of the city and surrounding sprawl of subburbs had drowned out much of the stars, but you could still make out just a few of them. The stars that did shine could have very well been satilites or wayward jets, but he didnt mind. He thought to himself, "these are free, these are the joyfull things money cant buy" he exhaled, the cold turning his breathe into something of steam, like a reminder that the tea was done in his stomach or something.An image that did nothing but remind him of the aching hunger still lurking inside of him. He looked up again, and thought to himself, "they may be free, and they may look good, but i still dont have a damn place to call my own." He stood up with mild intention, but as he got to his feet, he realized that he had nothing to do and nowhere to go. Nothing and nowhere was a hell of a place to begin. So he started walking, right across the street...across another street...across a parking lot...across everything...and right out of everything. John went to find himself a star.