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He teetered on his deformed feet wearing a pair of shoes that surely had known better times. His back was slightly bent forward while his head leant a little on the left. Once his eyes should have been brown, but an opaque veil made them look whitish gray. He was surely a homeless. His face was a web of wrinkles, maybe for too much alcohol. His clothes, although out of fashion, were decent and clean and made a striking contrast with his shabby look. A black hat with a brown feather made him look like a sort of Bohemian. I was pretty sure that he was a painter. He suddenly stopped and with a swift move he picked up from the ground half a cigarette that had been thrown away by someone who had plenty of cigarettes or plenty of money. He had sparks in his eyes, he had found his treasure. He held that half a cigarette with both hands and smiled, then he brought it to his chest looking at the sky. A real blessing for him. I watched all that scene while Martha was droning on about her Valentine’s Day. She was quite upset. She didn’t like the ring of gold that her husband gave her. “My father gave me something similar when I was about ten years old. Does it seem to you a present that a husband should give to her wife? So childish” I usually don’t make comments on this kind of statements, but that time I haven’t be able to restrain my words thus I said “So your husband’s love has the value of a ring of gold. I’d thank God if a man who would tell me –Happy Valentine’s Day-” . Martha was speechless. I turned my head. The homeless had gone away. I couldn’t help thinking that there are people who spend their life with their hands in mud looking for even the smallest nugget of gold, and people who throw away what the other ones have so patiently searched. As a matter of fact there have always been different kinds of gold diggers.

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