The old foster kid.

The system stole him from his loving Mother at the age of eight. Years went by with his chest feeling pain. No where to call home, runing from foster homes, Every new home was arrived at with his garboge bags full ussually three black bags was all he needed to move with.

Six foster homes later he has aged out at eighteen. Gargbage bags in hand he was given a cheque of eight fifty for the month and if he was on good with the agencies would supply him that cheque every month until he turned twenty one..

His name was spelt wrong on his tombstone, One week at the shelter showed him how much love there was out there.

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