Wennipeg woke up. Again. He lazily got dressed out of the pile of dirty clothes, because he couldn't afford running water. Again. He made himself breakfast, consisting of one piece of stale bread. Again.
Wennipeg had hope at one point. He had just made poor choices. Lots of poor choices. And now, look where he is. Alone, in the crappiest house he could afford, barely able to afford food for himself, much less anything else.
Wennipeg pulled back the mismatched curtains on his one window, to look out on his unkempt, dirty lawn. No one ever knocked on Wennipeg's door. No one ever checked on him, or walked their dog on his lawn, or brought him a fruit basket for the holidays. Depressed, Wennipeg closed his curtains.
Slowly opening the door, almost nervous to show his face, Wennipeg stepped outside. His dirty, stretched-out shirt and ripped up shorts made him feel ugly.
Suddenly, Wennipeg saw a neighbor, walking his dog. The man looked very nice. His hair was combed, and he even had a cup of coffee with him. His dog was a small Doberman puppy, with far, far too much energy. It was a wonder the man could hold a cup of coffee, and be dragged around by his dog without spilling it.
Wennipeg considered saying hello. He had seen his neighbor before, but this would be his first time talking to any of his neighbors.