Sticks and Stones

The night is young. I must check the next dumpster. As I go through the black garbage bags, I see a doll that needs an eye, an old broken kid's chair, and a half-stuffed teddy bear. The smell is horrible here, but it's worth it for a kid's smile. I do this because as a kid, my parents left me with adoptive parents who had no money. My only toys were sticks and stones. At home, I would hear them arguing over last month's unpaid rent.

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