Do you hear that sound? That pitter-patter, that faint rustling in the distance, like a gentle grandmother's voice calling for a child?
It is soft now, yet it grows. Its source has more power than you can imagine. It is a force of nature, a force whose power, when felt, will mean horror, bitterness, and sadness. It will mean thousands, if not millions, sleeping in their cars next holidays, and the holidays after that, or going hungry. Abandoned. Hopeless. Wandering the streets without purpose, lost souls of a lost generation. Will-o-the-wisp's of a world forfeit. It is coming now. That pitter-patter, you can already hear it, distinctly. As surely if it knows you, and your name, dear reader, its eyes fixed on you, unsuspecting, as it approaches to deliver its message.