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“It’s the law,” said Vincent. “I pay my due.”
“Fine.” Said the Gaffer. “But this is the last time in my territory.” He picked up the golden coin and tossed it nonchalantly into the wastepaper basket. “Take one only. And leave no trace or I’ll have you skinned.
“Your time is over wild man. Join a community or you’ll die. Simple as that.
“Now get out.”
Vincent straightened up. He tugged the hem of his denim jacket straight and made his way out of the office with defiance.
Behind him the Gaffer was shaking his head in regret.
*
Back out in the town Vincent began his task, just as he had did every week when circumstances allowed. Times were hard these days and they were getting harder with each passing month.
He drew the tattered magazines from his plastic bag and took a position on an unoccupied street corner to watch the passers-by. He passed an hour, feeling the place out, but none who came his way were suitable. He sold maybe half-a-dozen magazines and made a little pocket-money.
An older woman came by. She wore a red tracksuit top, two white stripes running parallel down each arm and big silver hoops in her ears. He gave her extra points for the bright blue necklace of beads she wore. Cheap, like a child’s.
Vincent sometimes liked an older woman, especially when he was particularly hungry. He liked how they were sometimes hungry right back.
This one was struggling to contain a small boy, which might make her difficult to acquire. And her hair was bleached blonde to hide advancing grey. Vincent hated the chemical smell.
He smiled at her though, as she passed, much to her disgust. And he winked at the boy.
“Big Issue?” He asked, sarcastically as she hurried the child away.
Vincent grinned and began the hunt in earnest. The lunchtime rush approached and the shops and offices would soon spill their contents out onto the streets for him to pore over.
He came presently to Jubilee Gardens, a park on the edge of the business district surrounded by old town buildings converted into offices. The secretaries and assistants took their lunches their, it seemed, especially on a sunny day like today.
A girl sat on a bench, poring over a magazine. She was pretty, in a bland, uninteresting sort of way, thought Vincent. Inoffensive. She had long dark eyelashes and mousy-blonde hair, streaked through with highlights. She wore jeans, clean, white trainers and a loose fitting hooded fleece jacket over a dark-blue sweater, characters from a children’s television show depicted on the front.
Not too heavy on the make-up. Vincent liked that, but he baulked at her down-turned mouth. Miserable, by default, he judged. No fun at all. She would occasionally flick her eyes up shyly to get some bearing on what was going on around her, but she failed to notice even Vincent’s overt attention. The clean-faced naiveté of a carefully sheltered upbringing, Vincent determined.
There was a time Vincent would have scored her highly for her innocence, but not now. He had long ago tired of easy pickings and he strolled on.