Dear "Mr Atkins",
I looked for you beneath your bridge this morning on my way to work. Both you and your bedroll were gone. I don't know where you go during the day -- are you one of the many hungry faces I see standing on the corner, begging for food? Once I saw you sitting in your tattered military coat, drinking coffee from a styrofoam cup -- it's steam rising in the cold morning air. I was so happy to see that you survived the frigid night (Your friend, Charlie, was not so lucky and his face still haunts my memory).
How did you wind up on the street? Did you wake up one day and find everything you had worked so hard for had just slipped away from you? All of your dreams and plans for your life shattered in an instant?
You were prepared to make the ultimate sacrifice for our country and in return you were abandoned and forgotten under a bridge. I wish there was some way I could repay you, but what is the price for freedom?
Please know that I will continue to search for you,
Lizzie Smit
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