In the city where I live, it is quite common to see homeless people standing at intersections, at on- and off-ramps for the highway, etc., with cardboard signs, asking for money or food. This was odd to me when we first moved here. Not that Chicago doesn't have its share of homeless people, but a) they tend to work high-foot-traffic areas, like downtown, instead of car-traffic areas, and b) they usually skip the cardboard sign and just come out and ask you for change. Possibly with some colorful language, or, alternately, a compliment. There's enough variety to always keep you on your toes.
But here, it's a magic-marker-and-cardboard kind of city, apparently. Most of the time, the signs just read something simple and poignant: "Need food-God bless." "Can't work-need help." "War Veteran." Sometimes there is a refreshing directness: "Why lie? I need a beer."
Today, though? The kid on the off-ramp stood impassively in the drizzling rain, hood pulled up, shoulders hunched slightly, with a hangdog expression on his face. I couldn't read the entire sign as I turned past him, but caught enough to get the gist:
"Parents killed by evil ninjas..."
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