Hank loitered at the same busy intersection every morning with his cardboard sign and steel walker. His scrawl on the sign said, “Disabled veteran. Anything helps.”
But Hank was neither disabled nor a veteran. He had plucked the steel walker from a dumpster. He felt the veteran ruse was necessary if he expected to garner any sympathy. The sign he attached to the walker with tape, so he wouldn’t need to hold it.
It was all fake, but everybody did it, he told himself. It’s just the way the game was played. We all do what we can to get a few bucks. People understand.
Cars were stopped in a long line at the red light. A driver rolled down his window and held out a few dollars. Hank slowly moved forward with his walker to reach out with his hand and grab the money, thanking the stranger.
The drivers regarded him with pity. A veteran with a walker who needed to beg for money. How sad!
It was almost six pm. Most workers had already gone home. Time to leave. He grasped the walker with both hands and laboriously ambled away, just in case anyone was watching.
He had parked his car out of sight of the intersection, not wanting anyone to know he owned one. It was better if they thought he couldn’t afford one and had no choice but to walk everywhere.
Arriving home, he left the walker and the sign in the car. He wouldn’t need them again until he drove to his secret parking spot and walked to the intersection in the morning.
That night he counted out the money compassionate strangers had given him out of pity for his plight. Twenty-seven dollars. A decent haul, he thought, but I want thirty tomorrow. Thirty bucks, thirty pieces of silver, gold, lucre, dinero, cash, wampum! Thirty is my target number.
In the morning, Hank drove out again to the same intersection where he had so much financial success the day before. Drivers once again rolled down their windows, handing him cash and believing they had helped out a hero in his desperate hour of need.
That night, he counted out the money. Thirty dollars on the nose! I got my quota!
But now, the wheels of his mind turned again. If I can get thirty, why can’t I get forty? That will be my new quota: forty bucks! I’ll stay a bit longer for the morning rush hour, the noon hour, and the evening rush hour. I’ll get my forty. I just need to make sure they see my sign and I act like I can barely move, heh heh! I’ll get my forty smackers!
Early in the morning, he drove out to his favorite intersection. He parked in his hidden spot and brought out the sign and the walker. Just beyond his car was a stop light. But no traffic was in sight. The light was red. I never see any cars here, he thought as he proceeded across the street. No use waiting for the light.
But at that moment, a truck suddenly turned the corner from the side. It all happened within a few seconds. Not seeing a pedestrian, the driver zoomed his vehicle through the intersection. He plowed into Hank, who went flying into the air along with his walker. Down from the sky he fell, crashing to the earth in a heap.
It was an unlikely accident, the first serious incident at that intersection that anyone could remember.
The EMS van arrived and ferried Hank to the hospital. The police interviewed the driver, a veteran suffering from Post Traumatic Stress Disorder.
After hours of surgery, Hank could no longer walk on his own. His legs and knees had been badly damaged.
His need for a steel walker was now legitimate. He required it to prevent himself from falling when he walked. The doctors told him he would need it for the rest of his life.
The next time Hank drove by his favorite intersection, a myriad of emotions congested his mind. It gave him a bad feeling. He didn’t want to go there anymore. He didn’t even want to see it. He drove his car along new routes to wherever he was going to avoid it. That intersection was no longer his favorite.
The End