Read me

I want to tell you, with my printed words, the sad story of Milton. He is an unemployed man but he does not have expenses so it is able to live with the few coins that people give him . Yes, he is a beggar and his only posesion is his white baseball cap. The wealthy old ladies are his main source of money when they leave the church. He likes looking into the cafes and pubs through the windows. He knows he is not allowed to enter. He likes to see those cheerful people but he hates to see himself reflected in the glass. Everyday I meet him. For example, yesterday I was waiting for him on a bench for hours. He arrived a bit drunk and sit on me. He slept for some minutes and as he awaked he saw me and started to read me. I let him to take me and brought me closer to his face (he can hardly see without his broken spectacles). Although he reads me, he does not realize that my story talks on him. This is not strange because reading is very difficult and depends on the reader and on his spirits far more than on the writer. Once I heard a man saying that our protagonist had a horrible car accident and lost his memories. This should be the reason why he does not recognize himself when he reads his name as the author of my printed words.