money train

The lanky old man at the end of the subway car has about twenty LCBO bags hanging neatly from his arm. He's smiling to himself as he snips away at a piece of paper, then hands it to the woman beside me. A heart with a smaller heart cut out of the middle.

"Here you are, dear. A heartless heart."

"Why THANK you" she says, with a little too much enthusiasm.

"And now, I will turn these lottery tickets into money!" Within seconds, he's cut up a small stack of scratch-n-win cards into dollar signs -- some connected, some on their own -- which he hands out to anyone sitting near him.

"There you go. A three-dollar bill. Don't go spending it all in one place!"

He has a sweet face. He doesn't smell funny. Clearly he's off medication but no one is intimidated by this man holding scissors. No one gets up to move away from him.

"God tells us not to depend on technology. I get by with these just fine." He waves the scissors then fishes through his bags for more cards to cut, making sure to collect all the clippings and keep them in their own little bag.

"My little sister. I haven't seen her in years." He hands me a piece of paper. 1965.

"God tells us not to depend on technology. I've got these. My sister, she'll be fine."


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