Busy day. Windy. Clouds moving fast as they should in front of a complacent yet strong light blue sky in the background. The sun, hidden, never glares at the passerby’s sun shaded eyes. The boy is unsteadily rolling a crumpled can with his stick and in his left, he holds bits of paper and a wrinkled $5 bill. It blows with the wind but in his firm grip, it never leaves his not yet fully-grown hand. A hefty man, maybe his father – or his guardian – walks ahead as if he knew the boy would follow him anywhere without the needed supervision.
One wonders if the boy knew the amount of the old, #5 bill; its worth. A person may work for that or it may be more than someone’s life fortune! For some, it’s an amount that one may ask their parents for with a bruised pride or for others, it’s the smallest bill to give to a homeless on the streets.
And there is the boy. He is nonchalantly holding the bill along with the garbage scraps, belittling it into another worthless piece of paper.
Half a block down, the boy says “woah” again as the can rolls off the sidewalk into the streets. He drops his stick from his hand without second thoughts and transfers his $5 bill into his right hand fist. The man turns to the boy and tells him to hurry up.
I want that $5.
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