"It can be an interesting place," the old wanderer said, his voice raspy, his hands trembling.
"That right?" Tamec replied, looking down at the old man. The air was warm, so the unsteady hand must have been alcohol related. Either that, or it may have been a side effect of some street drug.
"This is New Zeelis, it can be as interesting, or as boring as you like." The old man started to laugh, but the laugh slowly turned into a coughing fit.
A snort allowed him to gargled up a hocker, which he spat through the air. The glob of phlegm splat against the wall, and there it remained.
"Nice," Tamec said sarcastically.
"Used to be boring to me, then life got interesting. Very interesting indeed. I lost my family. Wife cheated on me. Lost the house to her, and the kids. My head was wrecked so I lost my job too." The man spoke softly, as if daydreaming. "But, then life got interesting. For the first time in my years, I felt like I was living. Weird, right?"
"Yeah, I suppose that sounds kind of weird. So, you only felt alive when you had nothing left to lose?" Tamec continued to stand. Not wanting to get too close to the stranger, he maintained some distance from him.
"When you've got nothing to lose, life gets easier. But, no, that's not why I started living." The man pushed back his hood and let it fall. "Survival. That's what made me feel alive. I used to leave my walls, traveled in a speeder, more walls. Spent most of my waking life at work, even more walls. Just so I could return to my walls and go to sleep." The man let out a cough. "Call that living?"
"Well, when it's put that way, not really. I don't think you're being fair." Tamec said. "I mean, everyone needs to work, everyone needs money."
"That they do, but for what? Hording money, that you don't have time to enjoy. Saving it for later life, why? So you can enjoy it when your body don't work as it should." The man started to laugh once more.
"You've had a lot of time to think about this stuff, old man." Tamec started laughing lightly too, which seemed to make the old man laugh even harder.
"Too much time to think, that's right." The mans voice was a whisp in the air, streaming on a stiff breeze disappearing beyond the clouds. "The point is, you don't need a job to earn money. There are millions, upon millions of people in this city just waiting to give you some Tokens, all you need to do is hold out the right hand."
"The right hand?"
"Sure, the right hand. Are you going to come at them and beg? Will you offer them a service? Will you write them a song? Paint a picture?" The man ended as drew on his palm with his index finger. "Oh, look at that. Wanna buy my art." The man smiled as he raised his blank canvas.
"I get what you mean," Tamec nodded to the mans palm as he tried to gather his thoughts. They were like a stream running through a drain as he tried to make sense of the mans hand. Was he actually drawing, or just pretending to? Does he want praise, or was it just a joke? "I'd better get moving," he said after his mind turned blank.
"Thanks for sharing my patch of dirt for a while. Always remember, hold out the right hand. No point selling art to someone who doesn't appreciate it, and there's no point begging from someone who has nothing to give."
Tamec walked down the over-crowded streets. They were brought, and the towers lived mostly above the clouds. The mans words bounced through his mind. His words meant a lot more than any of the advertisements bombarding him from overhead.
