The rain poured down, soaking us as we sat, for not one person had shown clemency to us as we pressed smudged fingers against windows and knocked sharply with dirty knuckles on the people's doors. Though we were not beatniks or hooligans, we were sad, and dirty and lost. Some cold nights, when our friends did not wake up, we would huddle together, too frozen to move, yet too cold to stay still. I missed it: our family as they sat around the dining room table. Our lovely family of four. We always had had enough to eat. Always had a place to sleep. We were wanted, missed and loved. As we sat on the ground in the watery light of the street lamp around the bend, we thought of the days that had been kinder to us. The memories sweetened my mouth and warmed my skin. They were a woven coat of life itself, meant to protect from the cold. Even when the wind blew and rain pounded upon us, we were happy, kept warm by memories of better days.