"Penny for your thoughts sir?" A man wearing tattered clothing approached any person walking in his vicinity while jingling a cup full of coins. It doesn't appear he knows he should be asking for money. With bags under his eyes, he seems to squint at anything farther than a foot in front of him. The jingling noise barely rises above the din of the street itself: vendors calling out what they sell, cars passing by, noisy children running together and chasing after a ball, countless business people walking with a purpose in the direction of their employment. Any passerby gives him a pity glance and a wide berth. 

You stand on the opposite corner, for some reason noticing his strange actions. A weird feeling radiates down your spine, something about this man is odd, other than his odd choice of clothing and how he is spending his time. With a slight hesitation, you decide to cross the street, gracefully avoiding a crazy taxi cab driver who seems intent on driving as if pedestrians do not exist. A car horn blares in the distance, but the street's noises have faded to a dull roar. All the people walking around, all their emotions and words mixing into a frenzy that subsides by the time you reach this calm old man. 

When you reach him, you realize he isn't that old at all, he looks middle-aged, the clothing and its wear must add a few decades. His appearance lies in stark contrast with everyone else that morning. Sharp suits, elegant dresses. Crisp uniforms and polished shoes. His demeanor is puzzling, he doesn't bear the frown or worn face that a typical beggar would carry. His face shows an almost child-like curiosity in the world around him, as if daring someone to approach him and entertain his game, whatever angle he might be playing.

Why do they do that?  I often wondered that myself.  At first, I thought maybe they were acting poor to fool people.  That way, when they do business they can play the “I’m just like you” card, “I’m just trying to feed my family”…

Next, I thought maybe they were trying to blend in with their friends, kind of like a chameleon.  Perhaps they are afraid what their friends will think, knowing that they are rich.  Or perhaps, they want to fit in with their family, and avoid brother “Billy” from asking for money to borrow.

The two reasons above might ring true, but personally, I think they act poor because that is how they were raised and it’s the habits that they are use to.

The man carefully responds he doesn't want any money, he seems to be offering it! His position in the street stands not out of sight, but in the middle of it. For whatever reason, the vast majority of the people bypass him. He continues with his phrase: "Penny for your thoughts sir?" 

He clarifies by signalling his cup is filled of coins to be dispersed to anyone willing to partake in his little game!

Bellator approaches the strange man rather puzzled, as this was the oddest street encounter he'd seen.

"What is your little game sir?"  

Crossing the road, Vic flipped off the taxi.

"Crazy fuck."

So many in this vicinity, it seemed. This neck of the streets was bursting from the seams with it. Like a fat man stuffed into a pillow case. Who then needed to be rolled up in a bit of carpet ripped straight from the floorboards. As if he would notice. Two in the head and one in the chest would make sure of it.

Even though last nights job was till swirling around in his cranium, it didn't dilute his intrigue at this can shaking, degenerate looking non beggar. It looked out of place, indeed. Much like the fat man's body right about now, floating in the pool of his business associate whom he'd be visiting after a bagel and a short black.

The night had rolled into day. May as well roll through it. If his head hit the mattress now, he'd probably not wake up to see the shock and awe his hard work was all gearing up to. Nothing like it, sending a concrete message at the point of 'holy fuck'.

First though, and since his mind was in need of a distraction from the daily grind, he neared closer to where he might find it. His shoulder met that of another passer-by, both curious about what this reverse penny pincher was offering.

"It is not a day that goes by that I wonder what people are thinking," quipped the man. "Perhaps the best way to know yourself is to also understand others." 

He motioned the newcomers to follow him as he leaned back against the building behind him. The three rested their backs against the wall as the man took a deep breath in. He pointed ahead to the large park that was facing them. 

"I have instructed four youngsters to stand in each corner of this large park. Each day, I come here and pay four kids to stand in these corners. They are usually different. They wander off, occasionally. Sometimes they stand there, as I'm paying good money. Others are bored enough at home, and like to muse with my 'insanity.' Truly I may be insane, but I think there is something interesting in how these children approach this problem."

The man coughed briefly into his sleeve before continuing. "One day, the four children decided to talk to each other. They created a plan to try to fool me. They all asked if it was okay if they rotated their position in the park throughout the day. I didn't have any reason to say no. Sneakily, it was a way that they could fool me and rest over the course of the day, after enticing their other friends to cover for them while they rested and afterward they would all split the money. It was very clever."

"For some reason, a man walked up to me later that day, having noticed my antics along with the children's mischief. He informed me that they were fooling me." The man chuckled at the thought of remembering the occasion. 

"Anyway, the man tells me not to pay the kids because they aren't doing the job. I tell the man, the kids are doing the job I pay them for, covering the four corners of the park. It didn't matter which kid was doing what, I was paying the same amount of money out every day." 

He smiles thinking about the situation once again, and shakes his head in amusement. "After a while, all the kids in the neighborhood were asking me to stand in the corners, and their system slowly devolved. The greed of them took over, and the ingenuity that once took place was soon lost to the ages." His tone suddenly became somber. He then turned to his audience and pondered: "Do you think if I asked any of these working people to do the same task, with a reward of as much money-or more- as they currently make, they would do it?" He leaned back once again onto the building, considering how they might reply.

Bellator pondered, but the answer seemed simply - at least initially.

"It is almost human nature to seek more gain for less effort, that is the entire basis of why we've developed all technology.  The fact your young hoodlums decided to branch out is almost an evolutionary fact of life.  Crazy old man, what are you trying to teach us?  Must you speak in such riddles with obvious answers?"

There was a brief silence

"Man's blind nature will make him seek out opportunities.  This entire world, for better or worse, is built on that.  Are you proposing a change?"

"Progress is not without ambition, it is due to note," the man replied. "However, life itself offers many doors, and it is the choice of the individual to open them should they appear." 

"Equally important, perhaps, is serendipity. Imagine the case: two captains of similar vessels. They both are tasked with traveling a similar route at different times of the year. Their boats lack a keel, all they have is a sail. One captain's luck rivals that of a lottery winner- a record breaking time for the journey. The other's ship sails into port weeks later. One captain is hailed as a hero, and his tale is repeated for years to come. The other's story is lost to the ages." 

The man stopped shortly for his audience to take in what he had said before continuing: "The captains both were of the same background, they had similar means of transportation, and the distance was equal. For one journey, the wind had shifted."

He brushed off his jacket before directly addressing the question he had been asked: "Change is not up for me to decide, you do not see me walking these streets. If you look to these men and women who tread around with purpose, you will notice the status quo they desire. I simply want to understand what makes them- you included- tick."

The man shrugged as if he had a lot he could say, but restrained himself to avoid blocking the other men from speaking.  

Vic smirked at the growing philosophical debate, or lesson, as he shuffled his stance with his back against the wall. His right hand was kept busy with attending to a cigarette. His left, tucked comfortably into his corresponding trouser pocket. A sarcastic clap would've otherwise been his response.

He himself would rather a shot of something sinister than this benign throwing around of words. Something with more kick to it. Or something that raised the heart beat, and the stakes. A game of russian roulette came to mind. After noticing the men slip into thought, Vega figured he'd break the silence before it grew too thick.

"Well, I gotta say, it also depends on trust." He casually retorted, taking things back to the original question.

A stiff looking man holding a briefcase passed the trio. Vic pointed at him with cigarette in hand as he paced on by. He seemed determined to get wherever he was headed as quickly as possible.

"You really think some stiff like that would take up your offer?"

A frown accompanied the man's look as he gave Vic a passing glance, noticing the outstretched hand singling him out via his peripheral. No sooner, his head was down again, eyeing the sidewalk, blending back in with the crowd.

"First impressions. If they ain't trust ya, they won't buy what you're selling, no matter the benefit. And you ain't exactly look like the kind to give more than you take."

More people passed Bellator, TGM and MrBlonde. For most, they were fixated on moving along with the crowd and not paying attention to much else. All except one.

A kid bounced on by, hanging off of his mother's swinging arm. In contrast, the boy was very curious as to the three people watchers, not looking away at all, basically staring at the men. With more years to his name it might've been interpreted as threatening. But, kids will be kids.

He stopped a moment which resulted in a wink and a poined finger-gun 'bang' in his direction from Vic. The childish innocence shone through with an appreciative smile before his mother tugged him along again, dragged back into the status quo frenzy.

"Sometimes people need more than just a promise of something better. They need trust. Cause they buy into you, more than what you might offer."

Vic blew at the tip of his middle and forefinger as if it were the end of a gun and the smoke from his cigarette the result of firing his trusty revolver. He then went back to puffing on the tobacco stick, shuffling his stance once more as he eyed the moving crowd.