If you ever walked past the 'Chez Petiou' bakery on an early morning, your eyes would turn to stare at a small bundle of rags; sitting on the edge of the grubby curb. He was dirty too, and he matched the street so much that a normal person wouldn't even notice him. But- I wasn't normal. For all the years that I strode past him, peeking out of the corner of my eyes, not once, once did I ever learn his name. His small eyes greedy for food, his innocent black face dirty with smudges.
