Gratitude

It started with the shivering vagrant. Carson didn't really need his jacket. Nor his shirt and pants. Then there was an old man, looking so sad with his soup. Carson gave the man his teeth and ordered him a burger. Carson's thighbone repaired a broken scooter. He gave his eyes to a camera, his veins for shoelaces, his soft rear to a hard bus-stop bench.

Carson was almost gone by the end of the block. Everyone needed something. The last dregs hauled themselves to the corner and fell over, facing the sun. "Thank you," said Carson.

Then he was gone.