I once saw a man in the middle of the street, with hunched eyes and shoulders. He moved like it was his last day, and he dragged one ankle behind him. He let out loud noises as he dragged himself through each step, the street covered in molasses and young mothers bringing their children closer. “You gotta thank god for everything” that’s what the mothers would say as they watched him walk around. He must hear that a thousand times a day. I wonder how he must feel, being the one god chose, to remind everyone else of what they have.