From The Conversation
[about a bum on a park bench
Every time I see one of those old guys, I always think the same thing.
What do you think?
I always think that he was once somebody's baby boy. Really, I do. I think he was once somebody's baby boy, and he had a mother and a father who loved him, and now there he is, half dead on a park bench, and where are his mother or his father, all his uncles now?