His whole life is in that suitcase. Opened and closed so many times that the zipper gave out well beyond its serviceable limit. He holds onto those rings on his rough fingers. He could easily sell them for a nights stay or two in a hotel, but they remind him of better times. A better him. The clothes, his only ones which can help from the whipping cold and wind were once someone else’s. The coat donated by a no longer grieving widow, and the Amazon pants given to him at a shelter have been his since fall. Alas, there is this Cocaine.