He smiled and waved at them, his eyes almost completely hidden underneath excessive folds atop his lids. His head was smaller than everyone else’s. He held onto the gray bars of their gate, where, day after day, he stood for long hours, waiting for people and cars to pass by. More often than not, people avoided greeting him, and kids simply did not want to play with him. There were only a few (myself, included) who saw him just as he truly was: another kid looking for friends—just like everyone else. Mickey was my friend.