Financial Aid?

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The average cost per school year at a private college is a whopping $45,000.
Owwwwww . . .
Talk about a comic strip rooted in reality.
My thanks to Grimm for the wonderful previous post.
My hope is that you’ll drop by and say ‘hi’ every now and then.
Thanks for all the great comments as well.
I still find myself laughing when I think of the term
“mattress monkey” . . .

~m

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Hobo, Inc.

He gets to South Station early on Saturday and Sunday mornings and takes out his weather worn piece of cardboard that reads:

Homeless and Hungry – Will work for food

Thank You & God Bless

“Matthew 25:40”

 

And although he really wanted to write “Acts 9:5-6”; the Matthew quote will possibly bring in 15 to 20% more revenue from the schmucks that actually know what it means and that’s damn easy money. Damn easy money.

 

“Help a vet, buddy?”

 

He’s been on the streets for so many years now that it surprises him that he’s still doing it. Sometimes he even feels guilty and that oddly surprises him even more. But it doesn’t stop him.
He does look pathetic, though. Or so he hopes . . .

 

“Any spare change, M’aam?”

 

He’s wearing the same clothes he wore back in ’96, the year he started this whole sham.
The older the clothes, the better he looks, so he thinks.
What a great investment.

 

“Can you help a little bit, sir?”

{a chink in the cup}

“God Bless.”

{Italian shoes, custom-tailored suit, laptop, Rolex and he gives me change. Cheap bastard.)

Hundreds of people an hour, thousands a day and year by year the change adds up.
He thinks, damn I’m smart.
The kids are the easiest; a bit of eye contact with them and he can slow down an entire family.
A little wave, a wink and a nod has been known to fetch half a sawbuck.

But, damn, he’s getting tired.

He rolls up one of his tattered sleeves and gazes at his Breitling Chrono-Matic watch and sees it’s 4:01PM.
Damn, time flies.

He takes his tattered piece of cardboard and skulks back down Atlantic Boulevard, swerves right on East Street where his shiny, jet black, 2006 Lexus is silently waiting.

He sheds the threadbare clothes, a molting snake, shoving the rank threads into the trunk.
He pulls out and drives back down Atlantic Avenue as the lazy, golden sun drips down into the seeping blackness of Boston’s financial district.

It’s been a good day, a very good day and the wife is cooking Coq au Vin tonight.
It just can’t get any better than that, can it?

{This post is loosely based on an actual related story.
Is it true? Who knows? The cynical bastard in me believes that anything is possible in this day and age. Skumsucking people like this do exist.
Should I ever see the bastard, I will lovingly kick him in the junk.
Repeatedly, ad nauseum}

 

~m