There was nothing I wanted with the money, I made my own and to take his felt dirty. I'd never liked him, not ever. Apparently in his old age he felt bad; I've got a few scars to hint at why that might be. It was a tidy sum alright, not to be sniffed at. Once it was wired to me I fed it right into the children's hospital fundraiser - an anonymous donation. I guess that should have been the end of it, but they wanted to make sure the sum was legit to avoid a police investigation. The coppers came and asked questions, funny thing, turns out the old man was a criminal after all. The hospital got to keep the cash but I've got a few new "fans" - friends of the ol' fella that think I owe 'em. I was laughing it off at first, but when they turn up after dark with little brown envelopes and mouths grim slashes, it's all "Take the job, or we'll just frame you for it anyway. At least this way you have a chance to stay out of jail."
In the air conditioned chill my arms are goose-bumped; in moments we'll be out in the blazing sun - there's just no hiding from this dry summer heat. At the desk is a collection tin and already I begin to plan a strategy of avoidance. My donations are part of my budget, monthly to my favourite kid's charity. But a few dollars here and there in every store? Then I get to look mean. Jacob says it's all a corporate con anyway, they take your cash, make it their donation and use it to get a tax break. I don't know about all that. I love sponsoring a kid, I've had the same one for six years now, but after that my cash is all spoken for. The line-up dwindles and my eyes have been fixed on the magazines for so long that when the cashier speaks I almost drop the basket...
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