“Bet you can’t hit me with a one dollar coin!”
There was a new sign every week – he would taunt us, would make us laugh, make us smile.
“Too ugly to prostitute!”
He told us the truth, about himself, about the world. He told us the truth, and we could always spare a dollar or two.
“A sleeping Pokébum blocks the path!”
Sure, the stink of alcohol would flood the subway tunnel, hampering us on the way to our soul-pulverizing desk-bound slavery – the snap, crackle and pop of his crack pipe was our accompaniment as we turned the corner at seven on a weekday morning.
“Need cash for alcohol research!”
Always smoking cigarettes, always texting. He would have gone through a small fortune in black felt tips, green magic markers, florescent highlighters. All for a handful of coins each day.
“Please fold all donations”
He got greedy. I started to take the bus.
This story was written for Steph for this week’s fantastic (as always) prompts over atBeKindRewrite the prompt I used for this story was Spendthrift Beggar. I also used this week’s 3WordWednesday prompts Hamper, Pulverize and Taunt.