Charles sat on the corner of Harbour and Glenville Road.

He looked up into the crisp August sky. His shoulders were momentarily relieved of their burden as he loud out a sigh. Where his anxiety filled breath and cigarette smoke started and ended one couldn’t be seen.

He looked down the street to his house. The beautiful Victorian house, with the wrap around veranda, white picket fence, and lovely flower gardens; that was his house. ‘Was’ being the key word.

Another heavy sigh filled the air. No one was around at this time of night. No one to hear his pain. No one to offer a hand.

In a recession, no one wanted to hear anything from has-been blues player. It didn’t matter that Charles had fans in every state. What matter was his financial security, he had none. Playing the blues wasn’t a steady or lucrative gig. Charles didn’t have the money to pay his mortgage.

He continued looking at his house. He had left saying he needed some air. What he wanted was time to figure out how to tell his family that they were homeless. So he sat on the corner of Harbour and Glenville Road.

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