To a particular panhandler

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Why do I let you use me? I know you are sick. I know you have psychological issues and a gambling problem. Heck, I have those issues; only not as bad. In you; I see a bit of me. Last week you approached me saying you were hungry; so I bought you a sandwich and a pop. As we were standing in line to pay; you asked for money for later when you would be hungry again. I refused; you pleaded. I had to say no. Yesterday you asked me to buy you a pop; I did. I also gave you my "free" coffee. I guess this bitch is directed at myself and the shitty life you have been cursed with. The point of this bitch? None really. I just wished you could somehow magically get better. —Best Wishes to the Broken

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