"Spare change mister? Got a quarter ma'am? Hey kid, gimme

a dime."

No one pays attention. Not even a glance in his direction.

Occasionally someone drops a coin or two, more out of habit

than wanting to help. He is one of the invisible. They

hide in plain sight. No one knows their name, and no one

cares. They are an inconvenience at best. He walks out of

the terminal after begging all day, and vanishes. No one

notices because they didn't see him in the first place.

He opens a door into a room that is in much better

condition than the door he just walked through. It is a

room that only 'they' know about.

"How was your day?" He is greeted.

"Wonderful!" Is his somewhat surprising response, as he

holds out his hand to show $1.55 in coins.

"That is wonderful." The other says sincerely. He closes

his eyes, grips the money tight, and begins to speak low, so

low it's almost inaudible. Yet some of the words that can

be heard through the fervent whispers are, "Bless", "Help",

"Protect", "Giver", are a few. His counterpart also closes

his eyes and whispers. When they are done, they end with a

single word. He opens his hand, and the money is glowing,

as though it was made of light. The other smiles at him as

he gently, even reverently places the glowing coins into a

large bowl that is full of glowing coins.

"Come." The other said, "We have much to do."

Hector Jimenez had stood in the same spot every day for

the last five years, waiting for the bus. It had become

such a habit that it was a comfort thing now, just part of

his daily routine. If he wasn't in that spot when the bus

came, he just didn't feel right. He had been the same for

five years. Same wife, same job, same kids, the sameness

was both a blessing and a curse. He wanted to try something

different. There were attractive women on the bus for five

years, but he always ignored them, he was happy at home.

Lately the women seemed to get much more attractive, and he

was starting to notice. Today, he stood behind some

Jamician, rastfarian, wannabe. He had the multi-colored

hat, and dreadlocks, complete with lice that Hector could

see. He didn't seem to care much for personal hygene

either. It was the first time in five years that Hector was

tempted to move from his spot. Instead, he took a step back

and read his newspaper, trying to ognore him. In fact, he

was so involved in reading his paper, that he didn't see the

out of control car, careening toward the bus stop. The

other people scattered, but Hector was a split second too

late. As realization dawned on him, he tried toget out of

the way, but knew it was futile, the car was mere feet from

him. Suddenly, he felt a strong hand push him clear of the

careening car. He landed on the sidewalk several feet away.

The car struck a building and stopped its unintentional

rampage. Lots of damage was done, but it seemed that no one

was hurt, except…

Hector looked back to where he had just been standing,

and there layed the Jamacian wannabe, his unmoving body was

twisted and bleeding. Five people already had their

Cell phones out, calling 911. An ambulance arrived in seven

minutes, and the Jamacian was taken away. Hector tried to

say something, tried to thank him, but he was unconscious.

Hector watched as the ambulance sped away, he didn't know

that it would not arrive at any hospital.

Alan Decker was not a bad kid, or a stupid kid, he just

wasn't very popular. He fell in with some kids that took

advantage of him, but he allowed it because he wanted to

belong. Now here he was, standing in the corner store on

23rd street, trying to build up the nerve to rob the place,

about to make the worst mistake of his young life. He

didn't need the money, (not that he would get much here

anyway). He wasn't interested in the thrill of it, (he was

nearly peeing his pants in fear now). So why was he doing

this? Because his so-called friends dared him to. They

gave him a gun, and sent him off to the store. He started

walking toward the register. He knew if he didn't do this

now, he might not build up the nerve at all. Just before he

got to the counter, a man in a ski mask ran in, pointed a

gun at the clerk, and screamed, "Money! Now!"

Alan stopped short. The robber turned and looked at him.

"What are you doing? Get on the floor!" When the robber

turned back, he was looking down the barrel of a sawed off

shotgun. He tried to pull his gun up first, but was too

slow. The shotgun went off, unloading both barrels of

buckshot into the robber's chest, and throwing him backward.

The robber landed in a bloody heap, right beside Alan. He

watched as the life faded from the man's eyes. The

ambulance driver didn't bother with CPR, it was already too

late. Alan watched the EMT cover the robber's face and load

him in the ambulance. Alan knew full well that it could've

been his face being covered right now. He threw the gun in

the river, and never talked to those 'friends' again. The

ambulance drove by, reminding him that he had made the right

decision. The ambulance, again, never reached any hospital.

The Jamacian and the robber quietly sneak into the same, well kept room they left that very morning.

Their bodies begin to glow so brightly as to blind anyone who might happen across them.

When the glowing fades, the two are once again dressed as beggars.

They smile at each other, and close the door behind them, on their way back to the terminal.

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