john henry faulk | he was carrying an orange

 

The day after Christmas a number of years ago, I was driving down a country road in Texas. It was a bitter cold, cold morning. And walking ahead of me on the gravel road was a little bare-footed boy with nondescript ragged overalls and a makeshift sleeved sweater tied around his little ears. I stopped and picked him up. Looked like he was about 12 years old, and his little feet were blue with the cold. He was carrying an orange....

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