The days blurred into one another as Kyle continued his futile search for work. Each morning, the routine was the same: rise from his cold bed, eat the last remnants of stale bread, and head out into the city. The factory owners had no need for a man like him, and the days seemed to stretch endlessly, full of hopelessness.

  His clothes, once worn with pride, were now little more than tatters. The cold gnawed at him, but it was nothing compared to the hunger that twisted in his gut. Kyle found himself spending more and more time wandering the streets, avoiding the stares of passersby, ashamed of his ragged appearance and his failure.

  One day, in a moment of desperation, he approached a small bakery at the edge of the market square. The baker, a stout man with a round face, looked up from his work as Kyle stood hesitantly at the counter. His throat tightened, and he swallowed hard.

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  “I... I’ll work for food,” Kyle said, his voice low and rough. “Just a loaf of bread, sir.”

  The baker frowned, eyeing him for a moment before speaking. “I need someone with skills, not a beggar.” His tone was curt, dismissive. “Now move along.”

  The rejection hit Kyle like a blow, and his heart sank. He had no choice but to leave, knowing that he had no skills to offer, no worth in the eyes of the city. As he stepped out of the bakery, he could hear the chatter of workers inside, the clink of coins exchanging hands, the sound of life going on without him.

  In the street, Kyle stood frozen, the cold biting at his face. He had no money, no food, and nowhere to turn. The thought of returning to his room, where the walls seemed to close in on him, was unbearable. Instead, he began to walk aimlessly, feeling the weight of his failure pressing on him more than ever.