Everyone has a story living inside them, few have the moxie to tell it.
Albert’s story was one of hubris and excess. He once had everything, now he lived under a bridge, his only source of income written in scrawled script on a torn piece of cardboard.
When asked what brought him to such a lowly state, Albert would only shrug, mumbling something about it not being his story to tell when he was in truth afraid of the power of his words and what damage they still wielded.
To go any lower, Albert knew he’d be six feet under.