Twenty quid dropped into the grubby old bowler hat standing upside-down in front of the homeless man. On this busy street corner of one of the wealthiest cities on Earth, people were generous. He bobbed his head and uttered thanks in a thick cockney accent.

“Thankin’ yer kindly.” He looked up and down the busy main street he was sitting on after the man had disappeared around the corner, making sure nobody was paying much attention to him. His hand was a blur as he grabbed the note from out of the hat and stuffed it into his pockets quickly. Of course, if the people thought you had enough money to get on, then they wouldn’t give you anything. The hat still held loose change and a couple of fivers – Enough to say “donations go here”.

Once again, he looked about to make sure nobody was paying any real attention to him, and pulled a shiny, brand-new pocket watch out of his shirt pocket. He glanced at the face and it disappeared into his pocket as quickly as the twenty pound note had, not five minutes ago. Anyone watching would have thought they were seeing things; just a trick of the light.

He stood up and picked his hat up, scooping the coins and few notes in his hand. He pretended to count the coins and put on his most depressed expression. ‘Darn, only enough for a loaf of plain white bread and maybe a cheap beer or two at a pub,’ his expression said. He held it for a moment or two, but no-one came up to him and offered him anything to brighten his false expression. No biters today, he thought to himself, and doffed the old, smelly bowler. He put the change in his left pocket, but put the five dollar notes in his ‘rich pocket.’ He then turned and walked down the street, whistling a nameless tune.

He grinned, noticing the way the people all milled around him. They are plenty pitying and generous when you’re on the ground, he thought, but when there’s a possibility you might actually touch them, oh no – that’s beyond their generosity. Beyond their ‘comfort zones.’ He chuckled quietly at a secret he knew but they didn’t.

He got to the bus stop and waited. He whipped out his watch again – five minutes before the bus arrived – and looked at the map of the city showing the bus routes. He had just decided on another location to beg the next time he came out as the bus arrived. He greeted the bus driver by name and paid his fare with the loose change he had received. Once again, he refused the offer of a permanent fare card, as he had for the last ten years.