I smiled to him when he said those things. It was nice to hear someone didn't loose themselves in the hate of the world. The world that kept moving forward and never looked for those lost in different ways. Looking to the flame in the stove, I thought on what happened in my life. How different we were, yet the same in many ways. He lived on the streets, I was bounced from place to place, tormented day after day in the streets, at home before mother died and in the orphanage that I came to find myself. It was rough going in my life. The pain in my ears still remained, no matter how hard I tried to hide and bury the memory, it always came back with each person. Each person made the pain worse or lessen depending on how they were to me. It was a pain I grew use to, how I learned how people worked. What person was good and who was bad. I was judged by all, good and bad. But this thief reminded me that it is harder on the streets. I could see it, how he did what he could to help those in need. I had always seen people for what they were, even if it took time, each person was different. All showed their true selves by how they acted. But many change in time, that was certain. I looked to him, "does anyone need anything to keep from the cold? I have extra quilts I made when I have nothing to do." I said to him quietly. I looked to him, "I may not know much on what is going on, but I can at least help you with something, even if I don't know you." I said, "a flaw I grew up with."