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Being Worth More Than a Buck

I never was one that needed money or had tohour, so I often ducked into the subway to
work because my parents left me with awarm up. My begging day is twelve hours and
generous annuity. Most of my life was spentat the end of that long cold day I had
traveling around the world making love toaccumulated just fifty bucks. The working
beautiful women. None of them captured myconditions  of  a  beggar could not be worse.
interest for long. They were only interested
in sharing my annuity and found nothing ofThe most painful part of a beggar's life came
value in my inner being. Wherever I wentfrom the people that despise beggars. Cries
people were interested only in what I couldof: "Go get a job you bum" were always
do for them in terms of money. I began toringing in my ears. I was often spat upon,
doubt my self worth. Alcohol seemed to solveand the wetness of saliva became a part of my
my feelings of inferiority until I took aface. Policemen and store owners were always
look in the mirror and saw a filthy lookingchasing me away; they had me be constantly on
creature staring back at me. There had to bethe move. The swift blow of a policeman's
a better way for me to feel worthy, and afterclub on my rear end was the most discouraging
years of searching I found the answer. It waspart of a bad day. The store owners were more
by  begging  for  a  buck.tactful, they didn't want an eyesore in front
of their door, so they gave me a dollar to
One of the hardest ways to earn money is bytake my body elsewhere. My biggest fear was
begging for a buck. Most people think it's anto be set on fire by a gang of sadistic
easy occupation, but they are wrong. Speakingyouths. I heard stories that beggars were
from my experience as a beggar, I can saybeing doused with gasoline and burned alive.
that it is a tough Job getting someone toThere was no way for me to avoid that
voluntarily hand over a buck; there werenightmare; I could only hope it never
times when I stood on a corner in ninetyhappened  to  me.
degree weather for twelve hours to make only
thirty dollars. In order to make people feelI often ask myself why I chose such a
sorry for me I had to bundle up in rags.difficult lifestyle when so many more
Nobody hands over money to a well dressedrespectful avenues were open to me, like a
beggar. The sweat produced from a hot day anddecent job. I always get the same answer, and
the piles of rags on my body turned thosethat answer makes me continue being a beggar:
rags into a soaking wet garment. The oppositeThere is no feeling that is as wonderful as
was true in the winter. I had to stand on athe feeling I get when some kind person hands
corner in freezing weather dressed only inme a buck. At that moment of enlightenment I
dirty underwear. The underwear was full ofcome to the realization that I am worth
holes to complete the effect. It wassomething as a human being, even if it's only
difficult being in the cold for more than anmore then a buck.



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