MERRY CHRISTMAS, OLIVER
By: Voss Foster
Copyright 2012 Voss Foster
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This is a story of Christmas. The streets were bustlin’ with every sort of person I could be bothered to imagine. Of course, my cup was still empty. I suppose all those nice, well-to-do folks couldn’t spare a second glance for one more beggar. They had to rush around and buy whatever it was they decided they needed this time ‘round. No different than any other day, when you get right on down to the bone.
I parked myself right outside this big ol’ revolvin’ door. Any other day, the security guards would’ve tanned my hide for dirtyin’ up their pretty storefront, but they had their hands too full to be concerned with me today. It didn’t stop the shoppers from givin’ me some good nasty looks, though. The only one that didn’t glare on down at me was this matchstick of a woman, draggin’ her little matchstick of a daughter behind her.