This is a story of the unwanted, the unknown. The man in the park... The man at the end of the bar... The man no one wants to think about. If you feel that ignorance is bliss; then stop reading this right now, and pick up your copy of Home and Garden. This man's story, his life, is not one of happiness. It's not a tale of over coming the odds, but one of despair. I write this as a kind of tribute, and farewell; to the loneliest soul I ever had the misfortune of knowing.

He sat in the bathtub. Beads of sweat were forming on his forehead from the hot water and the steam that filled the room. He reached for the sliver of soap. He lathered his chest and stomach, but the soap fell to pieces across his navel, and disintegrated in the water. He stood up, and turned on the shower. He switched the nozzle to cold, and let the cool water rush over his head. Then he knelt down on all fours, and pulled the drain. He watched the swirling water. His wet hair dripped water down his face, and mixed with his tears as the drops fell down to the receding water below.

Snow covered the ground, and ice sickles dripped from roofs that were blanketed with white fluff. It was that time again. A time of change clinking on the bottom of red Salvation Army buckets. While a man, who at that point looked more like an ice cube than a man, would ring his bell, and say, "M-e-er-r-y Ch-Christ-m-mas". Exited little kids would form a mile long line for a chance to tell Santa their life long wish. The wishes usually consisted of a new GI-Joe figure, or the latest Atari video game.