Bill woke to the lovely strains of profanities being hurled at him. He lifted his head slightly off the pavement. Apparently he was to live yet another day. The trash collectors continued cursing at him to get out of the way. Bill scratched himself and climbed slowly out of his box. He smiled a dopey grin. Sometimes the grin calmed people down. Today the insults and profanity simply increased. Eh, what did it matter. Better to be cursed than run over.
Reaching back into his box, he grabbed an old army surplus bag that contained all his belongings. A few bottles worth a couple pennies, a perfectly good shoe that someone and left beside the road, a few shirts he had found in a dumpster that he was holding to for winter, and the letter. Far and above the letter was his most prized possession. It was stained and wrinkled, yet he valued it far above everything he had. He reached quickly into the bag and assured himself that it was there and with the horn of a garbage truck blaring in his ears, he left the alley headed for the bathroom.
