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October 18, 2010
He stands at the bus stop by the skeleton of a tree and tugs his mittens down on his wrists. They're too big and they keep slipping. Everything is always too big or too small.

Maybe someone will come soon. People go to bus stops.

His breath comes out like a dragon's, whispering out into the cold air only to disappear within seconds.

 How long should he stay here? His scuffed, plastic Mickey Mouse watch reads almost midnight.

Maybe if he goes into town, he'll find someone to help him. It's a far walk, three miles probably.

He starts walking.