a job

Now each and every day as I go to work there is the same beggar sitting bare legged on the ground next to the entrance of metro station. He's still there sitting when I come back late from work. At first I thought this is terrible to do this, later I reflected on my days when I go to work and doesn't want to, days when I come back hating my job. In those days he, the beggar, should feel pitty for me, asking him self unbelieving what king of things people go through to earn their living.

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