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doubted it. Doubted his own perception of how he looked. It had been a while since he’d looked in a mirror.
    And then it hit him.
    I’m looking in a mirror right now.
    So he saw himself clearly for maybe the first time since everything went south, and sour. Saw his own image in the company he kept. These were his peers. It made him want to leave, and he almost did. But three more guys showed up and he decided he had just as much right to free money as they did.
     
    H E DIDN’T KNOW IF IT WAS NINE O’CLOCK YET, but it seemed like it must be. Forty-eight people were gathered on the corner, not counting himself.
    A boy twelve, thirteen years old rode up on a bike, an old beach cruiser. Jerry was surprised that there weren’t more kids waiting, because kids like free money. Along with everybody else. But the kid didn’t act like he’d come to wait.
    The kid looked at the crowd. The crowd looked at him. Maybe because he was the only one so far who didn’t keep his eyes down on the pavement. The kid’s eyes scanned around like he was counting. His forehead all furrowed down into a frown. Then he said, “Holy cow. Are you all here for the ad?”
    He said it in a kind of official way, and some heads came up. Listening to him, sort of. Thinking he might know something. And some others got defensive, and you could almost smell it. Like who was this little punk, anyway, to address them?
    A few people nodded.
    “Holy cow.” He said it again. Shook his head. “I only wanted one guy.”
    Then this big bald guy walked up. Said, “You did that ad?”
    Jerry knew this big guy. Not knew him, but knew enough to keep away. A high-profile bum around town. Made a lot of waves.
    But the kid didn’t know to lie low around the big bum, so he said, “Yeah, I did.”
    Big bum said, “Well, that’s it, then.” And almost everybody left, following him like he was the messiah or something. Whether hemeant he thought there was no money, or wouldn’t take it from a kid, Jerry didn’t know. Didn’t know if the guys leaving did, either. Just went where they were told to go. Elsewhere.
    Jerry could hear them grumbling as they pushed by. But he was not leaving, not jumping to any conclusions. Most of the grumblings added up to something like, “Shoulda knowed it was all a gag.” That or, “Real funny, kid.”
    The kid just stood there awhile. Kind of relieved, Jerry thought, because now there were only ten or eleven left. A little more manageable crowd.
    Jerry walked up to the kid. Nice. Humble, not like to scare him. “So, is it a joke?”
    “No, it’s for real. I got a paper route, and I make thirty-five dollars a week, and I want to give it to somebody. Who’ll, like, get a job and not need it after a while. Just to get ’em started, you know? Like food and something better to wear, and some bus fare. Or whatever.”
    And somebody behind Jerry, some voice over his shoulder, said, “Yeah, but which somebody?”
    Yeah. That was the problem.
    The kid thought this over for a bit. Then he said he had some paper in his book bag, and he asked everybody to write out why they thought it should be them.
    And when he said that, six people left.
    Kid said, “I wonder what happened to them.”
    And the lady with no front teeth, she said, “What makes you think everybody can write?”
    It was clear from the look on the kid’s face that he never would have thought of that.
     
    Why I think I deserve the money, by Jerry Busconi
    Well, for starters, I will not say I deserve it better than anybody. Because, who is to say?
    I am not a perfect person, and maybe somebody else will saythey are. And you are a smart kid. I bet you are. And you will know they are handing you a line. I am being honest.
    I know you said you wanted somebody down on his luck. But you know what? It is all bull. Luck has nothing to do with this. Look at all these people who showed up today. We are a bunch of bums. They will say it is bad luck. But I won’t sell you a