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Word Count: 1,560
The hunched backed old man with the black overcoat passed by my frosty window just as he had every other Christmas night I always wondered about the strange unclean man Every year around seven oclock he would slowly stride down my street carrying a beat up old box in his left arm with a sparkle of hope in his eyes I figured he was on his way back from the homeless shelter or the local hangout for the destitute but in my upper-middle-class neighborhood there wasnt any such place for miles The year before I had waited for him I had waited for him because I thought that he was Santa Clause and as soon as he appeared I was going to run outside and try to get a good look at him possibly even talk to him As the time passed by I started to lose hope for him ever coming But then around ten oclock I saw him with the same old box and the same old look in his eyes The minuet I saw him I ran from my window and swung open the oak separating the inside from the brutal coldness outside When I stepped outside the glare from the streetlights caught my eyes He was gone nowhere to be seen I looked all the way down my street and saw nothing This just reinforced my curiosity in the strange old man Never again would I so wantonly scare him away like that I had grown wiser with that frustrating experience So the next time when he passed under the streetlights and his shadow crept up the side of the house I didnt say a word When he walked past the driveway I didnt say a word I dont remember how much time passed by before I got up from the position I was watching him I then put on my boots and a jacket and started out after
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