Every Saturday, when I go to soccer training, I see the same man.

Most of the men I see are separated into two different groups; The ones who always carry briefcases, wear suits, look irritated, and never associate themselves with people of lower importance, or the people who are sensible, funny, kind, and have a permanent smile on their face.

But this man doesn’t seem to fall in either category.

He has a funny expression, that is pretty much unrecognisable, he wears socks with thongs, a worn out purple shirt and orange shorts, and has a scruffy beard.

I regularly wonder about this man.

I wonder what he likes to eat, and where he lives.

But today, when I was crossing a road, on my way to soccer training, I didn’t see the man walking around the street like normal.

Instead of walking, he was sitting in a corner of the street, with a cup containing a few coins.

He also had an old bag, and a blanket with frayed edges.

Every thing makes sense.

It all fits together.

I now know where the man lives.

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