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  • There's a homeless couple that sit across the street from each other right outside of my apartment. The guy sits on the gas pipes and half-asks people for money. He's actually not an unattractive guy. His eyes are like two giant pools of emeralds. If he hammed it up a bit, I bet he could make some decent money.

    But he can't be the jolly little hobo because his wife is in a wheelchair across the street. I've never heard a peep from her. She's got a liver disease from the two flavors of hepatitis eating away at her body. The most unfortunate thing is that she's in so much pain that she takes heroin to kick it. That disqualifies her from receiving any medical treatment whatsoever.

    The two of them have been sitting there for over a month. Waiting, I guess. I wish I knew what their plans were. What they needed. That I had a solution for their shitty situation. Instead I sit in my apartment, knowing that a really sick person is literally watching me type this story while they die really slowly and really painfully.

    What the fuck am I supposed to do?
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