I see Yoshi when I go running. He sits on his box, looking dejected.

Yoshi has been there for quite some time. He sits, staring off into a deep blue sky  stretching on forever. Clouds come and go, seasons pass, and he waits.

His malevolent creator, the person who put him on his box, abandoned him with no thought for his future. The event was so long ago that Yoshi can’t tell if the face he remembers is his creator or a picture of a Realtor he saw on a passing bus.

Yoshi always feels the weather. He cannot go inside, cannot feel the warm embrace of his own kind. The steel of his box cuts him with cold, scorches him with heat, treats him with indifference.

Time passes, and still Yoshi waits. Year after year he sits on his box, hoping for something, unknown, unnoticed, alone. Until now…

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