Upon entering a train station, I could Barely Blink when a homeless dude politely asked me for eighty-two
cents. I wondered whether this currency specific beggar was financially savvy
enough to decipher the difference between eighty-two or forty-two cents - if I
were to submit to his meticulous request.
Then, he offered details, “I need to get home, but I’m short
eighty-two cents.” I marveled at his bold and cunning attempt to capture more
than just a handsome penny by virtue of his pity politics. I refrained from
inquiring the total fee for his journey, and whether his destination was the
corner of Walk and Don’t Walk or a seedy dwelling below the Brooklyn Bridge.
Perhaps this Pythagoras could have been a successful banker,
had Uncle Sam not screwed him below
the Brooklyn Bridge
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