Reblogged from Smorgasbord:
A short story with a very important message from author Andrew Joyce
I’ve been angry all my life. Everyone was always out to take from me. I’d never had any friends. When I was in high school, the other kids would go out to lunch together while I sat by myself, just off the school grounds, and felt the loneliness that had become my life.
On Saturdays nights, the other kids would go out on dates or pile into a car for a night of adventure. I would hitchhike to the main drag, plant myself on a bus bench, and watch the world go by, wishing I was a part of it.
Things didn’t get much better after I became an adult. I existed in the world, but was not a part of it. I had no use for anybody. My loneliness had long ago morphed into hatred. Hatred for the whole damn human race.
Then one day, I saw a dirty beggar down on 8th Street, by the 7-Eleven. I took great joy in his miserableness. At least someone was worse off than I was. There was no way that he could have any friends. He was both lonely and homeless. I, on the other hand, had a roof over my head.
I tarried to revel in the spectacle. I was enjoying myself.
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