The hunched backed old man with the black overcoat passed by my frosty window just as he had every other Christmas night. I always wondered about the strange, unclean man. Every year around seven o'clock he would slowly stride down my street carrying a beat up old box in his left arm with a sparkle of hope in his eyes. I figured he was on his way back from the homeless shelter or the local hangout for the destitute, but in my upper-middle-class neighborhood, there wasn't any such place for miles
             The year before I had waited for him. I had waited for him because I thought that he was Santa Clause and as soon as he appeared I was going to run outside and try to get a good look at him, possibly even talk to him. As the time passed by, I started to lose hope for him ever coming. But then around ten o'clock I saw him, with the same old box and the same old look in his eyes.
             The minuet I saw him, I ran from my window and swung open the oak, separating the inside from the brutal coldness outside. When I stepped outside, the glare from the streetlights caught my eyes. He was gone, nowhere to be seen. I looked all the way down my street and saw nothing. This just reinforced my curiosity in the strange old man. Never again would I so wantonly scare him away like that. I had grown wiser with that frustrating experience. So the next time when he passed under the streetlights and his shadow crept up the side of the house, I didn't say a word. When he walked past the driveway, I didn't say a word. I don't remember how much time passed by before I got up from the position I was watching him. I then put on my boots and a jacket, and started out after him. My feet made a crunching sound as I ran over the snow. The air was sharp and had the sent of smoke coming from a chimney. Passing about 4 store as I ran I finally spotted him. He was standing in the middle of a walkway. I was less then 20 yards away from him. W...