we’re so used to hearing him, the man in the parking lot, the one with the boils on his feet and the lice in his hair. we’re so used to seeing him as he trudges by us, rusty shopping car rife with cans and plastic shopping bags, grunting as he goes along on three good wheels. we’re so used to spitting on him as it suited us when he asks for spare change. what we weren’t used to was setting him on fire, fifth story item on the evening news, between the president elect and this year’s hottest selling toys.