I’ve been in many houses over the years. Some were large and empty. I liked running around in those. Others were small and cozy, I always felt safe there. Then there were the ones that looked like all the others. I often rang the bell on the wrong door there. Those were…okay. The people were nice and though we didn’t have much to eat, everyone took care of each other. That is till the hunger got out of hand and someone forgot that we were all in this together. But the worst home came wrapped in candy. How was I to know that the witch who ate children after stuffing them with sweets was a man. An angry man who only ate after his third pint. Who only hugged when falling over. Who only loved you, while the authorities were over. How was I to know that it wasn’t the leaky roofs and chipped walls that marked a broken home but the shaky hands and a beer gut of a broken man.