Vladimir wrote me a poem, but his name was something else and he was from Puerto Rico just trying to get to a hostel in Capitol Hill. He was very sweet and the poem was in French and started with the letters of my name.
Sad to know I wasn't really helping him get to his beloved with the $5 I gave him, but hell, at least he's on the streets trying to do something pretty and if you look him in the eye, he's present and makes you feel like a human.
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Sad to know I wasn't really helping him get to his beloved with the $5 I gave him, but hell, at least he's on the streets trying to do something pretty and if you look him in the eye, he's present and makes you feel like a human.
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