It was late autumn that year. One Sunday afternoon, Flynn Lynch was at South Mountain Park collecting bottles. He carried a tattered woven plastic bag, his gaze sweeping over the tourists. Seeing them dressed in their finest, all smiles and laughter, filled his heart with profound envy.
'So many people are born without a care in the world,' he thought. 'Even if their families aren't rich, at least they have parents by their side. Their childhoods are filled with sunshine and laughter, and they get to enjoy life to the fullest. But what about me? All I can do is struggle to survive on my own.'
