From dshinm78.
Jimmy cried all that night and well into the morning hours. He would grow cold and shiver. Cars honked and drivers yelled "hey buddy..", but he didn't, couldn't move. Jimmy was undone. Now and then the wind would shift and he was reminded that he sat mere inches from the sewer, but that almost made him laugh; metaphors of finger-pointing karma, dancing around him as if he were a slumpy maypole. As soon as the sun broke the night, Jimmy would stand, walk with solid paces until he was home, remove his sweater, and never, EVER attend a quilting bee wearing a fabric blend again.
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