He was screaming, this boy, in the middle of the road. He'd been there all day. He looked a bit like your son, you thought, but your son would have been at school by now. You looked out of your window at him. There was something you loved about seeing an abandoned child cry and scream and sob. Perhaps it was the futility of it all. Perhaps you were just a bit evil. Perhaps you didn't even love it but hated it, and had known so little love and so little hate you couldn't tell which was which.
And still he was crying. What would you do?