Blessed

In the dimly lit alley, beneath a flickering streetlamp, old Jack huddled in his tattered overcoat. He was a fixture of the city's underbelly, a homeless man who'd seen better days. Night after night, he scoured the streets, collecting discarded bottles and cans, hoping to earn a few bucks for a warm meal.
One chilly evening, the flashing lights of a police car interrupted his routine. Two officers emerged, their stern expressions reflecting the suspicion in their eyes. Jack stood there, hands filled with clinking bottles, as if caught red-handed.
"What are you doing here?" the taller officer inquired, his voice laced with authority.
Jack looked up, his weathered face carrying the weight of countless hardships. "I'm just trying to clean up the place, officers," he replied, his voice surprisingly calm.
The shorter officer raised an eyebrow. "Cleaning up? You expect us to believe that?"
Jack sighed. "You see, officers, these bottles and cans, they're worth a bit of money. I collect them, and I recycle them. It's not just for me; it's for others who are worse off than me. God blessed me with good health…to bless others." Jack continued, his tone earnest. "..I use the money to buy food and blankets for those who sleep on the streets. There are people out here, struggling to survive, and every little bit helps."
"Well, it does look cleaner here than before," said the taller officer.
"I have work to do, officers."
"Alright, Jack," the shorter officer said, "just be careful and stay out of trouble."
Jack's gratitude was palpable as he returned to his task. With every bottle he picked up, Jack knew he was helping to clean up more than just the streets; he was cleaning up hope and humanity, one piece of litter at a time.

298 words