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The disheveled homeless man on the street looked familiar. When recognition dawned, it hit me hard.
“Kris, is that really you?”
“I’m afraid it is.”
“Long story. Homeland Security arrested me at the border. Lost the place up north to foreclosure. The wife ran off, elves went on strike, and PETA took the reindeer.”
“That’s terrible. What are you doing now?”
“Ringing a bell in front of Walmart. Seven dollars an hour. Better than working for milk and cookies.”
“But who’s going to deliver the gifts to the children?”
“Not to worry. It’s all privatized. Big brown truck.”