what is it that keeps this man that i see on this corner with that look on his face every morning, sitting, slumped and breathing on the wall of the garden where he must be sleeping every night, wearing those same clothes every time that i see him? what keeps him going on? what keeps him from throwing himself in front of a train? what keeps him? it is so easy for me to think that it would be so easy. will I see him in the spring? I am kept by these things.