The man walked without a look on his face unlike that of a normal man. He was scanning the crowds around him. Like an Anthropology watching people stream in and out of a bathroom. But his stare was deeper. It was a piercing stare, straight into the soul of the person his eyes locked on. He traveled briskly from person to person, a box in his hand. A plain, brown, cardboard box. A woman marched down the street with a crowd of people behind her, holding a sign in both hands. Her eyes were full of energy, but her body was tired. She'd been marching all day. The man stopped her with a hand on her shoulder. The crowd behind her was brought to a halt. He reached into his box, and pulled out a thick water bottle, full to the brim. He handed it to her, and the man kept walking. A homelessman was lying in alley, curled up against the wall with nothing left for him. His eyes were distant, and he looked as though his soul had left him long ago. The man stopped, and lowered himself to the homeless man's level. He reached into the box and retrieved a blanket, wrapped in which was a small book of food stamps. It was placed down in front of the homeless man, and the man kept walking. A girl was standing outside a grocery store, a dying cigarette between her fingers. She looked disdainfully out at the people passing by her, an angry outward appearance with harsh eyes. The man walked passed her as she reached for another cigarette. The man placed a hand on hers, and reached down into his box. He pulled out a hand mirror, polished to a perfect shine, and handed it to her with a few soft words. "You're beautiful and smart. Let no one tell you different." The man kept walking. A man sat dejectedly outside a house with his hat pulled down over his eyes. Amidst the pouring rain, no one could see his tears. His tears were angry and bitter, but also sorrowful. A sad mistake had put him there. The man stopped, and turned to the one sitting on the stairway. He reached into the box, and pulled out a bouquet of flowers and a stuffed bear. The man left without a word. A woman looked out over a playground, watching her children run around on a small playset. Her clothes were two sizes too large, stained and old, bought from a second hand store that had shut down years ago. Her bare hands fiddled with a gold locket as she watched. Her body shivered in the cold, but her children ran around like there wasn't a bit of cold in the air. The man watched her for a few seconds before he approached her. She looked at him with a sideways glance, but immediately looked back at the children. The man reached into his box, pushing down as far as he could. He came out empty handed. He looked up at the woman, confused. The man walked away. A man sat on a street curb in downtown Chicago next to a plain cardboard box. He looked out into the streets with his tired eyes, watching people walk in front of him. A young man walked in front of him, carrying a briefcase in one hand and a newspaper in the other. A cell phone was nestled between his head and his shoulder, furiously and futively talking into the phone. Striking a deal, getting somebody's money into his hands. It had been the same his whole life. The man with the box stood and stopped him. He took the newspaper from the business man, and gave him the cardboard box. The aged man reached into the box, and pulled out a dusty old hat and a cup of hot coffee. The old man smiled, and walked towards the city. The businessman looked down at the box in his arms, and kept walking. As the man stepped in the doors of his huge, empty apartment, he set the things he was carrying down on the table. He picked up the box, and threw it lazily onto a brand new, artsy couch. The box tipped over, and out of it spilled a photo. The man spotted this, and walked over to it. As he picked it up, he instantly recognized the face. A familliar face, one that had been close to his many times. One that could no longer be near another person's face. The man turned over the photo, and saw a note scrawled out in pencil. Your turn.