Just Do It
There’s always one. Every. Damn. Day.
They are identifiable by their clothing style. This one’s t-shirt says “Just Do It” and he thinks that means “Whatever you want.” He looks scruffy but that shirt cost more than I make in a month.
He approaches the stall with a boy tagging along. The kid’s about my daughter’s age and he picks up a bracelet she spent the evening weaving.
“I’ll give you a penny for this,” the man says, taking nine off the posted price. “My son could’ve made it.”
“But he didn’t,” I think. “He ate pizza and watched TV.”