He, the beggar.

HE sat there. Scrubbing his pants and shirt of dirt. Carefully applying the gray, worn, and dampened rag to each stain. To his left was a tan disposable coffee cup and to his right a blue reusable grocery bag. HE rocked back and forth like a metronome, digesting whatever once occupied the plastic food wrappers that lay on the gray cobblestone by HIS feet. I understand why he chose this park. Centered in what seemed to be the Champs Elysees of Dusseldorf. HE could continue begging while still having the most scenic view in the world. This was HIS garden and he didn't spend a penny on the fresh, intricately placed, bouquets. This was HIS home.