The good Samaritan

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A man stumbles upon a bank note.

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The good Samaritan

          John Doe was walking nonchantedly down the street under the hot and humid afternoon sun, like a robot on autopilot going from one destination to the next among the metropolitan crowd of lawyers, financiers, stock brokers, bankers and dreamers. John was like a fish in a pack, swimming up river. He was just like all the other people around him, the way he walked, the way he dressed, and the way he posed. He didn’t look at the people around him, his eyes were always fixed at an unmarked location up ahead, a reflection of his professional life, where he was always looking up, aiming for his next promotion or pay rise. He was immaculately dressed in a black suit, his pearly white shirt decked with an unimaginatively plain black tie devoid of any designs, which matched his neatly combed and greased-back raven black hair. He did not smile, did not interact with those people swarming around him, as if he was in his own world, walking on his own street, and those around him were no more meaningful than a speck of dust.

          John took a right turn at the intersection, where the street became less crowded. He continued to walk in the pace that has been established many years before, not too fast, not too slow, just enough to get to the office without breaking too much sweat, and just enough to be back at the office before everybody else. He had grown accustomed to his route, so much so that he could probably make it back with his eyes shut, as nothing out of the ordinary ever happened on this little path littered with small dairies, a police box, newsstands, green grocers, Laundromats, and fastfood joints. A boring street where life was always the same.

          But it was not the case that afternoon.

          John stopped in his track, half surprised and half astonished at the sight that was being registered through his eyes.

          There on the concrete pavement, was a green banknote. A 100 dollar bill to be exact.

          He heart was pounding as he looked around, more on impulse than by design, to see if anybody else was in the area. But there don’t seem to be anybody close enough to be able to claim the bank note as their own.

          As he stepped closer to it, John realized he was breathing heavily, and his mind was working double as hard.

          What was he supposed to do with it? Pick it up and take it to the police to look for its owner? The police box was just at the next corner so it would not be too much of a hassle at all.

          100 dollars, that is quite an amount for city dwellers such as himself, as every dime counts, since the cost of living has sky-rocketed in recent months.

          It could mean a week of free living for him, if he spent it wisely. John quickly quashed any sinister ideas from his head as he decided that he should return it.

          There were news, frequent enough, that the do-gooders who return lost items to their owners are handsomely rewarded. Recently, the city has also gotten on the do-good promotion movement with a worship the good Samaritan campaign where the images of the person would be plastered all over the news, their names revered over and over, making them something of a saint and a celebrity.

          John smiled to himself as he approached the bank note. It was not such a difficult decision after all, since how often would you have the chance to do a good deed these days.

          But then as he stretched his hand to grab the bank note, he saw a skinny dirty hand decked in a fingerless woolen gloves reached out and took the 100 dollars note from under his nose.

          John looked at the person with surprise, which turned to disgust as he found out that it was the hand of a homeless person.

          The poor soul was probably in heaven with his god sent gift.

          John stood silently for a moment, he looked around, and then went to take the bank note, his bank note – since he saw it first, from the trembling hands of the homeless man. It was easy enough to overpower the skinny person, who had probably endured so many such forsaken moments in his life to know better than to fight for it, as he just grumbled and cursed at the well-dressed man.

          John paid no attention to the homeless person, as he continued down the road, heading to the police box. He was busy daydreaming about becoming the good Samaritan.      

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