He sat crisscross in front of a boarded-up building covered in graffiti with a guitar in his lap and a sullen look on his face.
His guitar case sat in front of him collecting pocket change from strangers as they passed by. There was no music. One of his strings broke earlier and he didn't feel like getting out his playing cards when people were still giving him money.
Across the street was a hotdog stand that he'd been peering at between his blonde mop of hair since his string broke.
His mind was made up when he checked his case for how much change he accumulated.
$2.43
He packed his things and waited to cross the street to get his lunch. When he made it over, there was one person ahead of him as he waited patiently for it to be his turn.
His time came and he asked the vendor how much a hot dog was. She replied, "a dolla fifty."
When she offered two hotdogs and a coke for $3.99, he respectfully declined and opted for the one hotdog. Had he actually sat on the sidewalk a little longer, he might've been able to afford it.
After dousing his hotdog with ketchup and mustard he turned to leave only to be bumped into.
In the middle of the sidewalk, he stood staring long and hard at his fallen hotdog.
After what felt like an eternity he finally picked it up. The condiments painted the concrete in shades of red and yellow. He passed a trash bin and let it devour the remainder of his food.
YOU ARE READING
Paper Planes
Action❝We should rob a bank.❞ Five homeless friends, tired of the hand life dealt them, decide to rob banks to compensate.
