I had a quick meal of bacon and eggs and left the diner.
As I was walking by, I saw a soup kitchen not far away. Of course it had an extremely long line. The struggling would often try to get by in places like this.
Whenever I had tough fights with my father, I would run away from home. So I had some experience eating in soup kitchens. Depending on how hungry you were, a bowl of bland chicken broth and rock-hard bread still tasted like heaven.
Most of those people were good people who just needed a little help. Unlike me, who had a home, but ended up there because of my pride. My arrogance made me rebellious. Fortunately, life saw fit to beat me back into submission.
That was until I was old enough to get a job. But truly, the clutches of poverty were perhaps the hardest to escape. As I remembered my past, I saw the soup kitchen close its doors.
